Castles in the Air
by KyinHI
Summary: What kind of things do our heroes dream about when not battling demons and slaying dragons? Will the adjustment from fantasy to reality break them or surpass their wildest fantasies? Oh, and 3XK is back. M for language and a smattering of smut.
1. Chapter 1

_Their eyes meet across the lobby. Recognition and instant attraction sparking in their eyes and coiling in their stomachs. She straightens her spine and adds a swing to her hips, she is graceful and feline. Her skirt is short. Too short. The rush of air as she walks through the lobby doors sends a shiver of delight to all the right places. He stands by the desk, has been idly chatting to an officer. Watching her now he licks his lips, evaluates her like a wolf stalking it's prey. She likes the way it makes her feel, like she's a fresh piece of meat just waiting to be torn into. She entices him to follow with a seductive tilt of her head, lets her hair fall over her face as she dares once last glance towards him. Calls to him through the curtain of her mahogany locks. She wonders if the various uniforms and low life scum notice. Doesn't really care, she realizes. She feels wild, feral. She presses the elevator button and whispers a prayer of thanks as the doors quickly ding smoothly open, lure her in to the blessedly empty compartment._

_He hurries to catch up, wraps his long overcoat protectively around himself. She smirks and wonders if he's trying to hide something. _

"_Fancy meeting you here," he growls as the doors begins to close. _

"_Fancy," she agrees._

_He strokes his hand down her arm, it tingles and it titillates. The small hairs stand at attention, like a row of tiny soldiers awaiting orders. She shifts an inch closer, lets her hand skim his thigh. She hears his ragged inhale and wishes the doors would close a little faster, banes the budget committee for not deigning to replace these ancient conveyers. _

_Ding!_

_A hand boorishly thrusts it's way through the small crack and the doors glide back open. She curses under her breath and risks a sideways glance to her left. He's biting his lip and if looks could kill, the middle-aged man in the garishly plaid shirt and hunting coveralls' head would be mounted beside his latest trophy._

_Ding! Ding!_

_She closes her eyes and wills the man to disappear. When she opens them he is mercifully absent. She momentarily wonders where he's gone but is swiftly distracted by a fingertip snaking it's way up her legs, hitching her already short skirt dangerously higher. Wetness pool between her thighs and 'oh my god' he traces the line of her panties, his calloused hands scoring so close to where she needs them. It burns and it chills. She desperately drags his face to hers and..._

_Ding! Ding! Ding!_

_'Oh my God, what is that dinging?'_

* * *

><p>Kate slams her hand in the general direction of her phone lets out a growl of frustration.<p>

"Just five more minutes.." she whines, sighs into the early morning light. The amber rays tickle at her eyelids and insist on wakefulness. The dinging persists, laments the call of a new day. She could cry.

Lethargically she rolls towards the obnoxious dinging, reaches to grasp it off the floor. Angrily she swipes the dismiss message and momentarily wishes for the days of rotary phones and sturdy alarm clocks. Something she could throw, something she could break.

As she sets about her morning habit of shower and coffee, picking out clothing, she turns the heat down a smidgen, more than a smidgen, forgoes the milk and sugar in the hot black liquid. She settles on a black skirt and tight fitting blouse. She refuses to think about why she chose that ensemble, she just likes it. Yeah. That's all it is.

* * *

><p>When she arrives at the 'Twelfth' all seems as it should. She sips on her latte. Savors the vanilla and frothy cream. She greets the desk jockeys with a smile and relaxes as she settles into her regular routine. She picks up a 'New York Times', left forgotten on a bench and scans it as she races to catch up with the rapidly closing doors ahead.<p>

"Hold the elevator!," she cries and smiles happily as the egress opens back up.

She rushes to the opened path, still scanning the paper and lets out a cry of surprise and she slams abruptly into a large, unyielding chest. She meekly begins to raise her eyelids and prepares to make a perfunctory apology. And that's when it hits her. The woody base notes and pink pepper top. Heart notes of dry cedar and grapefruit.

Sepia rivers of liquid swim lazily between her breasts. The smell of him is more overpowering than the sting of the scalding brew.

"Castle!" Her stomach drops and the compartment hasn't yet begun to move.

"Fancy meeting you here," he remarks with a wink, relieving her of the soggy newspaper.

"Fancy." She croaks it out and a fine sheen of perspiration beads on her forehead. She hears the grind and whir of the timeworn cables, prays the old girl has a few years left in her yet.

The elevator moves compassionately fast and she dives swiftly through the doors as they open. Makes a break for it towards the ladies room. Leaves him standing in the cab with a perplexed look of confusion clouding his face.

"Kate?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well. that was...new. I'm thinking of making this a multi-chapter, he dreamed, she dreamed fic. Thoughts? Continue? Back away from the smut? Hit me up with a review!**


	2. Chapter 2

_He's been out of town for three weeks. Was it London? Paris? Albuquerque? It could be Timbuktu for all he cares. _

_All he remembers is that his publicist is a harpy. _

_All he knows is that Kate is waiting for him at the loft. __He doesn't know how. _

_He just knows._

_Maybe she was watering the plants while he was gone?_

_One would think this would have made him brave. Eager. To see this woman who spends so much time invading his mind. Instead he is reticent to enter the threshold. Anxiety churns in his gut. Festers and simmers as he stands stupidly outside his own front door. He balls his hands into tight fists, feels the cold steel of his keys dig into his palm. Nervously wipes the other on his pant leg. Furtively he glances down the hallway, scans left to right as if he's expecting something to happen, as if he's waiting for someone. It's obtuse. _

_He owns the entire floor._

_Still, he can't help but feel like he's been here before. It's a familiar twinge of excitement, his fingers tingle and his palms itch. He slowly pushes the key into the lock. He feels as though he's rounding a corner, chasing after some anonymous suspect. A click as the bolt slides open. The trigger is cocked and loaded. He opens the doors to his home and is confounded by the long, drab hallway. He wonders when he redecorated and why he would chose such an ugly combination of brick and concrete block. He thinks someone should take out the garbage; the piles tossed haphazardly along the borders of this bleak, dingy corridor do nothing for the ambiance. He has a reputation to uphold. _

_He rounds a sharp corner and she's there. All determination and bravery on her delicate face. He thinks he'd like to kiss away the little vein that bulges between her furrowed brow. He knows he'd like to sample the sharp line of her jaw. _

"_Castle! Down on the ground! Now!"_

_Oh, right. _

_He's had this one before. He knows the drill. _

_He raises his gun and aims ahead. Straight as an arrow, as precise with his aim as she is in her work. There must be no mistakes. He's set this scene so many times now, it's rote. He knows he is dreaming and yet is powerless to wake. It could go one of two ways. Either it will play out exactly as it occurred and he will wake with a sigh of relief; or it will go devastatingly, wildly wrong. If the latter happens he will spend the waking portion of his day on edge and a little too eager to touch. _

_He briefly closes his eyes and silently solicits option one. _

"_Castle.." her voice is a whisper and he's confused. _

"_I said down on the ground..." he hears a new emotion in her voice, one he hasn't yet cataloged and studied. He hears something moist, like teeth scraping across dewy lips. _

_'Huh..' he thinks. 'This is new.' _

_Still, he doesn't open his eyes. _

_He knows that sound. He'd know it anywhere. He's spent countless hours imagining what it would be like for him to be the one dragging teeth across those luscious lips. Biting at the soft mounds of flesh. _

_He doesn't open his eyes though because it too, could go one of two ways. This habit of hers is not purely something she uses to elicit a response out of him or an act he occasionally catches her in as she tries to hide a smile. Sometimes this quirk of hers is a purely an instinctual reaction to trembling fear or agonizing grief. He's afraid if he opens his eyes he will be the one with the bullet wound. _

_Or worse. Her. _

"_I said now, Castle. On the ground." _

_He feels weightless for a second. Braces himself as he collapses to the pavement. He feels his tailbone connect with the chipped bricks and pebbly asphalt. He coughs and splutters as the air whooshes out of his lungs. _

_He's terrified. _

_He's in love. _

_He has to know. And so haltingly he opens his eyes, just a slit._

_Oh!_

_Ohhh... This is definitely new._

_The chilly floor has remarkably been transformed into velvety sheets and a soft platform. He vaguely remembers catching a glimpse of this bed once. At the time he'd thought it kind of small compared to his abundant 'California King' and added it to the mental list of things he could provide her with if only she allowed. _

_An elegant dinner, a larger bed, his undying love and affection. The moon if she asked._

_She straddles his hips wearing just a bra and low-cut panties. Black lace and pink satin. It's simple and it's smoking hot. He concedes she has a point with this diminutive mattress. There is a certain appeal to the cramped nature in which they now find themselves. He realizes he is naked and hasn't a care in the world. A whole gaggle of graduating students could be awaiting his commencement speech and he wouldn't flub a line. This is no nightmare, this is his most fanciful daydream and he doesn't intend to miss a second._

_She is watching him with intensity, desire is marking her face like notes on his manuscripts. Raw and uncensored. She scrapes her nails along his chest, along the lines of his collarbone. Smooths the angry marks with the pads of her fingertips. She leans down and peppers butterfly light kisses down his chest. He inhales. She smells like sandalwood and jasmine. The cherries had never made a reappearance. He doesn't mind so much. The slight hint of spice combining with her own unique smell is intoxicating. She is his drug, makes him feel things he shouldn't, compels him to follow. He'll never get enough. _

_He runs his fingers through her hair, hooks her head with his hands and brings her to him for a smoldering kiss. Teeth and tongues clash in a battle of wills. He lets her win. It's not really losing when the woman you adore is feasting on your lips and grinding seductively in your lap. His cock bounces between her thighs and she moans at the connection. If this is the price he has to pay, he will gladly atone._

_He feels warm all over, wrapped in a blanket of Kate and desire. His ears are ringing and his heart is on..._

* * *

><p>"Shit!"<p>

_The fire alarm's ringing and his apartment is on fire!_

Rick stumbles out of bed and trips on a pair of carelessly abandoned shoes. His vision blurs as the blood rushes, confused, around his torso, races to his head. The change in direction is almost too much for his body to take. He rests a steadying hand on an armchair, takes a deep breath and wills himself not to faint. Big brain must beat little brain in this early morning squabble. The last thing he needs is for his lifeless, naked body to be found by the FDNY.

The press would have a field day with it, he knows. If he managed to survive, Kate would make certain to ensure he didn't the second time around. These days if he made the press, so did she. And so he made special care to avoid the jackals, was remarkably adept considering the playboy ways he was known for. He'd spent the better half of a decade earning the extra attention and would spend the rest of his life trying to avoid it. He knew she appreciated the effort. She wouldn't kill him, maybe just hurt him a little.

As his senses return to him he spies his jeans and t-shirt laying discarded on the armchair. He stuffs himself into the outfit and shoves his feet in the blasted shoes. He doesn't remember his jeans being so snug yesterday. He runs into the living room, calls for Alexis, his mother. He hears screams and a hissing emanating from the kitchen and panic bubbles up in his chest.

_God, let them be okay!_

As he clears the living room, rounds the large posts obstructing his view, a scene that in any other circumstance would be comical affronts him. His mother is wildly, spraying the fire extinguisher in the general direction of the stove. She's all arms and red hair and shiny baubles. His daughter is standing stock still, her mouth in a wide 'O'. The lumpy, moss colored facial mask only adding to the absurdity of the moment.

_God, I'll kill them!_

He runs in, grabs the appliance from his mother. Swiftly snuffs the last of the flames. As he drops the extinguisher to the ground he is assaulted by a barrage of "Oh my God, Dad!" and "Darling!". His heart gradually resumes a more steady beat and he hugs them tight. They say they wanted to make him a going away breakfast before he left for the tour this afternoon. He curses his mother's culinary skills and wishes there had been a body.

* * *

><p>He arrives at the precinct two hours late, wearily places a steaming container of coffee on Kate's desk and collapses into his chair.<p>

"What happened to you?" she inquires. There is concern in her voice and maybe a little bit of sadness. As though she'd been looking forward to spending time with him before he left. A year ago there may have been a hint of frustration or annoyance. She knows him better now. Knows he only shows up for her, knows the research has become unimportant. Unnecessary. An expanse of pain, longing, lost time and regret has brought them here. A new sphere of hope, expectation and acceptance is beginning to emerge.

"Kitchen caught fire," he says as if it's an everyday occurrence. "Don't worry," he asserts, noting the distress flashing swiftly across her features, "Mother and Alexis are fine and staying at The Carlyle."

He quirks an eyebrow and lobs her a grin. She responds in kind.

"You happen to know a good contractor? It seems I have some renovations to undertake while I'm away. "

"Come on Castle, I'll drive you to the airport." She smiles warmly at him and hands over her cup. "Looks like you could use this more than me."

He nods, let's his fingers brush hers as she hands it over. He sees the shy smile and is charmed as she twirls her fingers around a loose curl.

"You need anyone to water your plants while you are away?"

The coffee sprays from his mouth in a fine aerosol and he just barely manages to conceal his face with a cupped hand before it can ruin her outfit.

"Um...yeah," he croaks. "That'd be nice."


	3. Chapter 3

Kate woke lazily. Closed her eyes, once, twice more. She flexed tautly, arched her back and curled her toes, delighting in the cracks traversing up her spine. It was Saturday. She had four (use them or lose them, vacation) days off and her calender was clear. She savored the warmth and softness surrounding her, rested her arm across her face to block the bright mid morning sun. Twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep was just what the doctor had ordered.

Actually it was what Castle had ordered.

* * *

><p>"<em>Whoa! Kate, Look out!" <em>

_He slams his arm flat up against her chest in a protective fashion as she slams on the brakes. Her chest heaves and they slowly turn to face the other, each with a shocked look adorning their features. Hers is colored with a rosy shine of humiliation. She's almost run a red light. There are no lights or sirens to usher their way safely through. There is no body waiting. She's driving him to the airport and she's not paying attention because he smells good and she's going to miss him and she'd like to nuzzle at the vein that is rapidly pulsing in the crook between his ear and his..Oh..God.._

_She's never going to live this one down. They have an understanding. She drives. It has been a hard fought battle of wills but she has the training, the focused mind. The keys. _

"_Close one," he gasps. _

"_Yeah.." she breaths and doesn't fail to notice the way his fingers curl towards her as he drags his arm back to his lap, the way his eyes flick to her lips for a second before he fixes them staunchly ahead._

_The drive is strained. Kate silently berates herself for being an idiot and muses that the way his fingers danced along her torso was eerily familiar. 'Elevator', her mind traitorously supplies, and she she lets out a small chuff of laughter. He shoots her a glance, like he's worried she's lost the plot. He might be right. _

_She's spent more of her nocturnal hours dreaming of him lately. Sometimes it's just an innocent rehashing of the previous day, other times not so innocent. Her mind has a way of turning even the most routine of situations into anything but. It's not unpleasant but it's becoming a distraction and she almost wishes for the more mundane nightmares. Murderers and mayhem she can handle, she's had almost thirteen years to train herself to deal with them. She wakes up sweaty and terrified but it reaffirms her choices and propels her to continue her one-woman crusade. _

_These new dreams; they just leave her sweaty. Willing but unable to go back to sleep. _

"_Thanks," he says, laying a hand on hers as they pull up to the curb. "You didn't have to."_

"_No, but I wanted to," she replies and wonders where the courage for that small admission comes from. _

_She smiles, it's a little forced and laced with a tinge of melancholy. She's going to miss him greatly she realizes. She sometimes forgets that he has his own day job, he's spent the last four years wheedling his way into hers and now three weeks feels like it will be an eternity._

"_Have a great trip." She tries to insert a little enthusiasm but it comes out forced._

_His fingers lace around hers and he gives them a small squeeze. "Kate, if I didn't have to.. I mean.. it's just.." _

_He takes a breath and tries again. "I'll miss you." He states it confidently and with a nod of his head. Like he's come to a decision. _

"_I'll miss you too," she replies and her eyebrows raise of their own volition upon her forehead. She's letting things slip all over the place today. It's not as horrifying as she'd imagined it would be she thinks._

"_Use your vacation," he intones seriously, cupping her face with one hand, tracing the the hollow of her eye with his thumb, as though trying to wipe away the dark smudges. "Get some sleep."_

_She rolls her eyes at him, tries to insert some of their usual levity into the tense moment. "I'll sleep when I'm dead," she barbs and a look of stricken horror flashes across his face. _

_He snatches his hand away as though he's been burned and she curses her poor choice of words._

"_Sometimes you scare me." His voice is low. It sounds more like a confession than an observation of her ability to go for days with little or no sleep. A reticent hush washes over the vehicle and as she bites her lip and gazes apologetically into his eyes. His eyes bore sincerely into hers she thinks that maybe he's going to kiss her. She leans marginally closer and her eyes droop a little as she contemplates his lips. An angry honk blares behind them and he curses out loud._

_The moment broken, he hurriedly grabs his carry-on and exits the car. She presses the trunk release and lays her head on the steering wheel as he removes his suitcase. _

"_I am half agony, half hope...I have loved none but you." _

_She's quoting Austen in her mind and banging her head against the steering wheel, she's gripping her thighs with white knuckles and trying desperately to think of some way to say goodbye._

_His shadow appears to her left and she turns to face him with a smile and a blush. He leans into the window and lays a lingering kiss against her forehead. _

"_Promise me you'll rest," he says seriously._

"_Promise," she smiles._

"_For the plants," he winks as he slips a shiny key into her palm and turns away towards the terminal. _

_She thinks it's a lot more than just a means of entry for a friendly favor. She thinks it might be an answer to a question they haven't yet learned how to ask of one another._

_He's ready._

* * *

><p>Her plans of a lazy weekend are interrupted as she sits on the terrace, sipping on her morning brew and reading the newspaper. Her phone rings ominously with the tone of the Twelfth and she eyes the device angrily.<p>

"Shit!" She grabs the annoying piece of plastic and hits the talk button.

"Sorry boss, we've got a body and it's not good. Gates says we're all on mandatory duty until further notice."

Esposito seems genuinely upset to have had the assignment of calling her and something in his voice warns her that there is more he's not saying. She takes a calming breath before replying, "Sure thing, gimme twenty."

She ends the call and lets a sigh escape her lips.

As she hurriedly gathers clothes and chugs down her beverage she picks up the phone to call Castle. A twinge of disappointment passes over her. It's approximately 4pm in London and he will be at a signing. She places the phone back down and looks at it ruefully. It's become a habit. His always original greetings, she uses as a jump start to her day. Montgomery had been right. She wasn't having any fun until he had come along. He's only been gone a day and already she is missing him standing at her side.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: No smut this time. Still, I hope it doesn't disappoint. **


	4. Chapter 4

Rick sits bored and fidgety at a large, oak desk in one of Oxford's finest bookstores. He's on the ground floor of a large atrium, rows and rows of books line the perimeters, ready to captivate, intrigue, inform.

_Blackwell's_, a fixture since 1879.

A personal addition to the tour, he was not so much interested in the history of the beautiful old building but the chance to scope out the university that Alexis has been seriously considering recently. He's hoping to find a myriad of reasons she should reconsider. Brown is a fine establishment, a great school. It's within driving distance. Stacks of books surround him and a long line of devotees snakes it's way around the floor. He dutifully signs his name, adds witty one liners. Smiles at all the appropriate times and keeps his face locked into the 'thrilled to be here' mask. It isn't that he's not appreciative of his fans. He loves them and makes a valiant effort to connect with them through his various social media sites and fan pages. It's the signings that he abhors.

Twenty seconds.

"_I love you, I'm your biggest fan, can you sign my _(_book, poster, breasts.. depending on the fan_)_, thank you."_

It's dreary, it's impersonal and and it is bizarre. Even in his more licentious days he found it to be a farce. Constructing an image to sell more product, it seems more suited to thespians than authors. His work is his way of connecting to his audience.

But he comes and he smiles because he _does_ love his fans and this is what they ask of him.

To pass the time he observes his surroundings and studies the people milling about. The girl, young woman, sitting at the under-sized table and chair; a setting intended for a younger crowd. Her nose is buried deep in a tome of morality, upbringing and love. He watches as she shifts her legs uncomfortably but makes no move to leave, obviously enthralled by the tale being spun before her. Pride and Prejudice. He smiles fondly in her direction, he's read the book so many times he can cite it verbatim.

At this desk, he's Charles Bingley. All good manners and charm, not much sense.

He hopes Kate sees through the facade and realizes he's her "Mr. Darcy".

Though it sends a thrill to his very core on the rare occasion she uses his first name, her almost exclusive use of "Castle" makes him hope it might be true. He's seen the well worn copy on her bookshelves.

_...Ah Kate, __"__by you, I was properly humbled"..._

_Oh, lord help me. _

He sighs dramatically and his mother would be proud.

_Now you've got me quoting Jane Austen._

He chuckles and the graying old lady in front of him shoots him an odd look. He apologizes, signs her book with a flourish and a wink. She blushes a deep crimson and as she leaves he resumes his observations.

There's a young couple three floors up, leaning into each other in a corner of the bookshelves. They are talking quietly, she's laughing and he's gazing at her with a look of pure adoration. She smacks his arm playfully and he leans in and kisses her forehead with such tenderness that Rick feels guilty for intruding.

* * *

><p><em>The blare of the horn breaks the spell. <em>

"_Shit.." he breaths._

_On his inhale, her spiced floral scent invades his senses and it hits him like an electric shock. He quickly realizes where the moment had been headed and much as he'd like to take her right there in the International Departures lane, this wasn't the time nor place. He's leaving for three weeks and the last thing they need to add to their delicate dance is misunderstandings or extended periods of time to reconsider. With all the self-control he can muster, he scrambles from the car and escapes to collect his bags. _

_He leans over, his palms against the open trunk and takes deep, cleansing breaths. In. Out. In. Out. They are nearing the precipice, so close it's almost palatable. He curses Paula for suggesting this tour and himself for agreeing. Although to be fair, it has been years. He's kept his signings strictly to the Tri-State area for the last four years and his readers are probably imagining him with some kind of social disease. _

_Richard Castle: the man, the mystery, the misanthropist. _

_He grabs his suitcase and pauses to slide a key out of his wallet. The spare to the loft. He's been looking for a reason to give it to her for months. The time never seeming right, the stakes too high, the excuse not good enough. It's more than a mere convenience in case of emergency. It's an invitation. _

_To come over whenever she pleases._

_To stay. _

_He hadn't imagined it, in the cramped space of the Crown Vic just moments earlier. She'd leaned in and her eyes had sparkled with a sheen of light tears as he'd tried to tell her with his eyes all he felt for her. She had bitten her lip in that way, that drove him mad, and her gaze had flitted for a second to his lips. _

_She'd leaned in. _

_He curls the key into his palm and it warms against his skin. As he heads for her window he catches her banging her head lightly against the steering wheel and a fluttering, like a thousand flapping butterfly wings, assaults his chest. It's adorable watching the normally so well put together detective get flustered. _

_He can't resist the urge to taste her before he leaves and so he places a kiss upon her forehead. It's light, but he dawdles. Lets the moisture from his mouth bleed into her skin and melds his lips to the little crease in the furrow of her brow._

"_Promise me you'll rest," he implores as his lips disconnect._

"_Promise." _

_She smiles and she's sincere and her cheeks are flushing. _

"_For the plants."_

_He throws her a wink and slips the key into her palm before turning towards the terminal. It's more than a promise to sleep. To water the plants._

_She's ready._

* * *

><p>It's been two hours and he's weary. His muscles ache and his head is pounding a steady drumbeat behind his eyes.<p>

Jet-lag and the different time zone have him struggling to keep his eyes open. It probably didn't help that he'd spent the entire flight imagining all the ways he'd prove his affections when he returned to the city and more importantly to the woman that he loved. As the last of his admirer's retreats, he stands up to stretch out his legs and reaches into his pocket for his phone. His finger is hovering over her number when he realizes it is still morning in New York. He doesn't want to disturb her if she's managed to get some semblance of peace in her normally hectic life.

He contents himself with the picture he'd surreptitiously taken of her a few weeks prior, her hairs down and she's smiling. The smile she gets when she thinks he's otherwise distracted. It's feline and it's secretive and he's fairly sure his name is written all over it.

When he returns he will lift the veil.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A big fat thanks to all who have taken the time to hit up my review box. It's like crack to my muse. Keep 'em coming. She beats me with the block stick when she's needing a fix.**

**Two chapters and no smut. I apologise. ;)**

** This story is going nowhere near where I thought it would three days ago when I started. I**** have something of an end-game in my mind now though. So that's something. There might even be, *gasp*, a plot lurking within.**


	5. Chapter 5

It's been four days since she's heard his voice.

The case is going horribly. Three dead women between the ages of twenty eight and thirty-five. No common interests or friends, no connection. Raped and smothered, left in public locations to be discovered. They bear a striking resemblance to her and it has been brought up on more than one occasion that Jerry Tyson may be back. A different M.O. But the hallmarks are there. the team is floundering and she hasn't had the courage to tell him. He'd be on a plane and be at her side in a minute. She aches for it, but his career is important and there is nothing more he can do that isn't already being done. A detail is parked below on the street, her locks have been checked and re-checked, the precinct has a full staff twenty-four hours a day.

They have shared a text or two. Seventy-four she notes, looking down at her cell phone, smiling. He's been updating her on his tour via electronic messaging and she wonders if he too doesn't want to break the spell that had enveloped them as he'd left for Europe.

He sends her jokes, not surprisingly they are all suggestive and leave her mind mulling over the possibilities.

He sends photos.

The first came accompanied with the caption: _I thought you'd like the vista._

It's a picture of London Bridge. But that's not what captures her attention. The bridge itself it out of focus and blurred into the background. It's mute grays and blues blending into the foggy London skyline. On a bench, wrapped in heavy coats and scarves, a wrinkled old couple sit holding hands and facing each other. A bag of breadcrumbs lays between them and pigeons flock at their feet.

The second comes with the caption: _Wish you were here._

It's a picture of a rustic looking restaurant. Not much more than a set of glass doors and a chalkboard displaying the menu. A large Rhododendron spills out of it's pot, the blush of it's rosy tendrils making a stark contrast to the gray cobblestone sidewalk. But that's not what captures her attention. A young couple, no more than twenty years old sit at a small wrought iron table. She is feeding him a bite of her meal. He looks like he'd like to eat more than just the pasta.

The third one comes with the caption of: _Great view, huh?_

It's from atop the Eiffel Tower. The urban area sprawls in the background. 'Trocadero Gardens' a relief of green amongst the muted silver city. But that's not what captures her attention. In the foreground, so close he would have been able to touch, a middle aged couple is engaged in a passionate lip lock. There is a pink bloom on the woman's cheeks, the man's hands are tangled in her champagne curls.

He has a real gift for photography, she thinks. He's wooing her, she realizes.

He sends her updates, like a husband would a wife. Quick, mundane, one sentence. Sometimes just one word, a small insight into his current state of mind.

_Bored._

She imagines him scrolling through his phone as he waits on a meeting or for a signing to begin. It affects her greatly that even with thousands of miles separating them, she is on his mind.

_Silent. _

She imagines him laying still on his hotel bed missing her. She wishes it was hours later so that she could lay still in her own, as though the act of doing the same thing, miles apart, will somehow close the gap.

_Smug._

She imagines him with that devilish grin. It's 8pm and she's relaxing in the tub, trying to wash away the stench of death and despair when that particular text arrives and she wonders what exactly would make him smug at 3am Paris time.

Oh. He wouldn't!

She reaches for a towel and wipes her hands dry, grabs the phone and quickly types a reply.

_You're up?_

A pause. Too long she thinks.

_I am. Yes._

She could take that one of two ways. She could continue their game of pretending nothing is amiss and tersely tell him to go to sleep or should could dive in. She lets her legs sink below the waterline and the bubbles slosh and lap at her breasts. She feels brave with four thousand miles and an ocean between them.

_Need anything, or did you just miss me?_

_Bit of both._

_Really?_

_Mmm. I had a dream._

_Oh?_

_You were here. _

_What were we wearing? _

Oh jeez, lame, she thinks and sinks further into the tub.

_Nothing but our imaginations..._

A warm feeling creeps down her body and she hums happily, waits a moment to enjoy this thrilling new sensation before composing a reply.

_Imagine that. My current state of dress._

A minute, two, go by. She grins as she imagines what he might be doing. She lets her fingertips brush over her nipples and they harden despite the warm water and humidity engulfing the small bathroom.

_Careful Kate,_ _you're playing with fire._

She grins at his response. And falls just a little bit more in love that he's still giving her an out. It's only bolsters her courage.

_That's not all I'm playing with._

_Jesus, woman. Have a little mercy._

_You think you don't affect me?_

_I'd hoped._

_You're not the only one with.. risque dreams._

_Care to share? I think I need a visual here. :P_

She rolls her eyes at the emoticon. She's surprised he's managed to hold off so long. She'd once caught a glance of a rough-draft he'd been editing. Down the margins were little doodles of happy and sad faces, his personal markers to remind him where revisions were needed and of what worked.

_This one time, in an elevator... quite the ride._

_Remember when I spilled the coffee last week? It wasn't only the newspaper distracting me._

_Now put your tongue away._

She taps the messages out in quick succession.

_I can think of somewhere I'd like to put my tongue._

A cascade of warmth flows south and she squeezes her thighs together. It tingles and she moans lightly. She imagines him in the old claw foot tub with her. How it would feel to be wrapped in his arms as his fingers amble a lazy path south.

_Mm. I'll keep that in mind. _

_Where are you right now?_

_Tub. Wish you were here._

Seconds pass into minutes and she can only imagine what he's up to. She has a fairly good idea. She's engaging in a rather vigorous game of self-satisfaction and can only conclude he's doing the same. As she reaches her crescendo she lets out a sinful sound, half sob-half moan, and cries his name. As the waves of pleasure slowly cease and her breathing regulates, she hears the familiar chime.

_You have no idea..._

She smiles fondly, remembering their very first case.

_That's my line._

_It was great. ;)_

_Call me. _

She taps that one out slowly and hesitates over the button for more than a minute. A line has irrevocably been crossed and she hopes it won't be awkward. She realizes she can't hide the case from him anymore either. He's her partner, in every sense of the word and it's unfair to keep him in the dark. She'd throttle him if he did the same.

She reminds herself that this is Castle; he's seen her at her best and he's seen her at her worst and she hits 'send'.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Looks like I just wrote myself into a big fat multi-chapter story. Oops.**


	6. Chapter 6

He paces the suite as if waiting backstage for his cue, the understudy suddenly thrown the lead. He's disgracefully unrehearsed and caught off guard. He squeezes the phone tightly in his palm and wears a path in the plush, ivory carpeting.

He distracts himself. Makes the bed and removes evidence. Pours a heavy handed snifter of brandy and downs it in three quick gulps. He gasps for air as it burns it's way down his throat and settles warmly in his belly.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Minutes tick by and he feels guilty for leaving her hanging.

He makes a fist and releases it, repeats the action over and over. Shakes his hands and tries to release the nervous energy bubbling about his consciousness.

He should know his role in this production.

Text messaging Lothario would have to be just about the _exact opposite_ of what he was going for when he embarked on this journey of long-distance wooing. His fingers hover over her name and he tries a few opening lines out aloud. It all sounds cliché and hokey to his ears. Mawkishly sentimental and contrived. A farce not worthy of this great tragedy that is their association. He mentally castigates himself and slaps the heel of his hand into his forehead; curses his mother for bestowing on him such dramatic genes.

"Just do it already, you fool!"

His finger apprehensively slides over the call button, stops a beat and presses down.

"_Calling..._" pops up on the screen and his heart feels like it might burst from his rib cage.

"Castle.. Hi."

Her voice is soft but welcoming and he thinks maybe he hasn't completely screwed this up. He licks his lips and attempts to speak.

"Beckett," he abruptly blurts out.

_No_. His mind supplies helpfully.

A soft rustling of linens accents her soft breathing. He imagines her laying on her bed, still dewy from her bath and rolling her eyes at the ceiling in amusement. The visual eases the tight grip on his gut somewhat and he tries again.

"Kate.."

_Better.._ his mind gibes.

The sound of her stirring, like's she adjusting her pillow, licking her lips, breathing a little heavier than when he'd started. It gives him hope that this feeling, like he's a fish flopping wildly on a dangling line, isn't one-sided.

"Well, this is.."

"Awkward," she laughs.

"Yeah," he exhales and it feels like the elephant had blessedly stepped off his chest and wandered off to greener pastures.

He runs his hands across his still sweaty brow and rakes the damp hair off his forehead, listens as she breathes more calmly into the line. Her soft puffs of air and what sounds suspiciously like 'Adele' playing in the background act like a balm to his frayed nerves.

_So she's been trying to distract herself too_, he thinks. _And with sappy music no less._

This more girly, sentimental side intrigues him.

"So, what's new?" he hedges.

She snorts. He finds it charming in a way only a man infatuated could.

"Oh, you know. Hectic day at the office, traffic was a nightmare, sexted with the partner. You know, the usual," she replies coyly.

He thinks he'd like to kiss the shit-eating grin that he knows she's sporting, right off her pretty little face.

His laugh ripples outward, starts as a rumble deep in his chest and erupts as a series of guffaws. It's slightly deranged but as his laughter, and her corresponding giggles die down, a deep sense of calm overcomes him.

"Thank you," he plainly states.

"Always," she replies in a low voice.

It's like a sweet melody; soothes like a summer breeze, warms like a winter fire. _I love you, too._

"Now who's stealing lines?" he quips.

He basks in the warm silence for a moment, detects a hitch in her breath and a small sigh.

"Rick, we need to talk."

He hears the shift in her tone, notes the waver in her timbre. The beat after his name. The pachyderm comes trampling back to his side. Plops itself heavily on his chest.

"What is it?" he asks warily.

His easy talent for reading her thoughts seems to have been washed away with the limp washcloth that now sits accusingly, mocking him from the bathroom counter. He's fairly certain they are on the same page; but where is this tone coming from? He has no other avenues to investigate. The only lead he can hold on to is that she is already having second thoughts.

"It's Tyson. We think... he may be back."

Surprise and relief that she hasn't jilted him wash over his senses before a surge of fear and anger elevates to his ears and drops heavily to his toes. Settles like a lead brick in his stomach. He'd heard the cautious way she'd stated that last admission.

Like guilt wrapped in an apology.

"How long?"

"Saturday," she grinds out, like it pains her to admit it.

"And you didn't think to.. you didn't.." He grasping, trying not to fight, to hurt her when they've only just begun something that could be so wonderful. Trying to think of something to say that won't make this house of cards come crashing down around them.

"I'm coming home."

"You don't need to. I'm fine, really. There's nothing you can do that's not already being done. And there's your tour, you can't just leave that. Look, I was only trying to save you the worry. Stay. Finish your tour.. I'll just.."

She's babbling remorsefully and he doesn't know if he wants to strangle her or wrap her in his arms and protect her from the monster lurking in the dark, the monster he'd let slip from his mind.

"Stop," he growls. "I'm coming home."

And he disconnects the call.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: God. This one was like pulling teeth without anesthetic. My backspace button got such a workout it's considering joining the Honolulu Marathon this weekend.**

**Thoughts?**

****A/N #2: So, I was getting messages about people not being able to see past chapter 6 and the links in my alerts were leading to a message about outdated/broken links. I'm hoping deleting and re-uploading Chapters 7, 8 and 9 have fixed this. Message me if you still can't get past Chapter 6 please.****


	7. Chapter 7

It took eleven hours, give or take.

He hastily packed his bags and checked out via iPhone.

_Ah, the wonders of modern technology._

Haphazardly, he threw his dirties in with his cleans and groaned inwardly at the tongue lashing his daughter would be sure to give him. She'd spent an inordinate amount of time packing and repacking his baggage, clucking and chiding as she went, like a mother hen. It amused him and endeared her to him even more. He threw his toiletries in on top, not caring that the shampoo would undoubtedly explode and all those expensive garments would be ruined.

_She's at the hotel, she never has to know. Bless Mother's cooking._

He glanced at the clock as he took one last sweeping look over the room, hoped he'd left nothing behind. He smiled to himself and stole the bathrobe he'd been wearing, balled it up and stuffed it in his suitcase. He needed a token. They'd add it to his bill.

_Twenty minutes. Not bad._

The cab right was short, thirty-six minutes with light traffic. Smooth sailing to Charles de Gaulle. He took in the scenery and promised himself he'd one day take her there. He thought that Paris would suit her.

_Less than an hour and I'm on my way. Back home. To Kate_. _That infuriating.. that perfect... Oh. We're here._

Arriving in the departures terminal brought him up short, grinding to a ungraceful halt in front of the rows of identical (spare the brightly colored logos) counters. He stumbled a little over his own feet and his eyes darted to the departure board. Four flights in the next two hours. The first leaving in just forty minutes.

_Perfect! I'll be home in time for breakfast._

Methodically he made his way from counter to counter. Laid the charm on thick and flirted unabashedly. He was greeted with flurries of _"I'm sorry, Sir", _and _"There's always standby, if you'd like to wait."_ Empty apologies, memorized and standard procedure. He felt a sick rumbling of panic bubbling in his stomach as each counter offered less and less hope.

_Shit. Twenty minutes wasted. Now what?_

He slammed his fist down in frustration on an unattended desk, hit the surface unevenly and hissed at the pain searing through his fingers. As he slumped heavily on a nearby bench, wallowing in self-pity and stroking at his burning appendages, it hit him.

"I'm a best-selling author, for Christ's sake! I'm rich!"

Heads turned. Stunned little _O_s formed on their mouths. Shocked expressions of recognition and hands quickly raised to cover smirks, leveled themselves at his from all directions.

_Oops!_

He pulled out out his cell phone and called Paula, she'd know who to call and where he needed to go. She was brash and curt, she was abrasive and loud but she got things done and had his best interests at heart. It didn't hurt that he made her an obscene amount of money for her troubles.

"Paula."

"Ricky boy, hi. What can I do for you? Europe treating you well?"

"That's what I'm calling about actually, I need to get back to New York. As soon as you can. Sooner would be better. I need a jet."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Rick, you just started this tour. You can't just leave."

"Paula, _you_ work for _me_ and if you need any other incentive, hear this. I promise you, if there is not a plane with my name on it at CDG in one hour, I will come down with a case of writer's block. The likes of which have never been seen before. You'll be hard pressed to get a grocery list out of me. Are we perfectly clear on this?"

The line was silent for a beat. He wasn't particularly worried. He _was _her employer after all but it was low to use it against her, she was also one of his most trusted friends. She'd give him as he asked, she always did. He made a note to send her a little something from that absurdly expensive store she liked so much.

"Crystal," he heard her sigh. "You wanna talk about it, lover boy?"

"I wouldn't know where to begin." He let out a long exhale, his misplaced anger draining away with the compassionate note detected in her voice.

"Hey, how did you know it was_ 'lover boy' _related?" he continued.

_Am I this transparent?_

"Far be it for me to pry, my dear, but if we are talking about who I think we are talking about, don't you think it's time you made your move? Fours years you've beaten around this bush. In days gone by you wouldn't have wasted four hours. I know you, Rick. She must be pretty special."

"Yeah. She is."

"Then for God's sake man. Make a move!"

He chuffed out a sound of amused laughter.

"Thanks Paula, I owe you one."

"You owe me more than that. I'll text you the details."

And with that the line disconnected.

Fifty-five minutes later he was gratefully sinking into an overstuffed armchair and strapping on his seat-belt. As the aircraft took off he felt some of the tension ease away.

It didn't last long.

The flight took seven hours and fourteen minutes. He counted it out with impatient taps of his foot, three shots of whiskey and enough trips up and down the small aisle that he was afraid he'd wear a hole right through the Gulfstream's fuselage. He napped fitfully, with dreams of serial killers and Kate's cold, lifeless body bleeding deep crimson onto fresh mowed green. He downed another shot and continued pacing the aisle.

The taxi ride from JFK took almost two hours with mid-morning traffic and by the time he arrived at the precinct he was wound up tighter than 'Fat Elvis' at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

As he exited the elevator, strode purposefully down the hall and made his way to the desk, he saw her and stopped in his tracks.

He saw her, chewing on a pencil and angrily swatting at a stray lock of hair that stubbornly refused to stay behind her ear. He saw the worry lines etched in her face, he saw her eyes darting back and forth from the murder board to her phone. He saw the mugshot of Tyson, stuck front and center of the board. He saw the relative lack of evidence surrounding it. He saw red behind the still slightly lingering haze of alcohol and the all consuming buzz of fear.

He felt a pang, primal and instinctive. A deep seated need to protect her and drag her by those luscious amber curls, hurriedly away to safety.

_She's going to kill me. _

_Fuck it._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I was going to reunite them in this chapter. But this little nugget of Castle doing something completely ADD, showing up at the airport all _gung-ho!_ and then thinking, "Fuck, now what?", wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. **

**I kind of wanted to frustrate him a little more as well. You'll see why in the next chapter.**


	8. Chapter 8

It hits her like a sudden summer storm. The air stills around her, strangely quiet, the ringing of phones and chatter of neighboring detectives dulls to a low hum. She hears only the sound of her breathing and the steady percussion of her pulse, beating insistently at her temple. Small sparks of electricity finger at her extremities, draw her gaze up. Into the looming cloud that is Richard Castle. A leaden ball situates itself in the pit of her stomach and she waits, as if suspended in slow motion, as he stalks towards her.

He grasps her arm, hard. Hard enough to leave a mark. She slowly raises an eyebrow. Cocks her head. It's a question and a warning.

_So this is how it's going to play? Don't you dare cause a scene!_

Her world speeds back up and she chances a glance around the bullpen. No one seems aware of this silent war being waged. It's subtle, his face shows no emotion bar the glitter of anger, fear and what looks very much like lust in his cobalt eyes. He tugs upwards and she rises obediently, tries to stifle the feeling of impending doom and burgeoning carnality. She feels weak and if there's anything she dislikes more than being out of control it's feeling as though she is some delicate flower.

Right now, she has both those feelings in spades.

"Castle, what the.."

A sharp look is all it takes to silence her and she stumbles a little as he shoves open the door to the closest private place he can find, the men's room, and propels them both inside.

Slamming the door behind them and flipping the lock, he pushes her up against the cold steel with his body and stares menacingly into her eyes. The strong aroma of antiseptic and air freshener mingle and stick cloyingly at the back of her throat.

"You're a coward," he hisses into her ear.

And it's more than a statement on her neglect to share on the Tyson case, it's a confession of his frustration with their relationship or relative lack thereof. His hands are at his side, his fists curled into hard balls of fury and restraint.

His breath pants hotly at her neck, it sends shivers to her spine and her nipples harden to aching pebbles. He gravitates backwards on his heels, gives her breathing room and waits.

All she can think is that she misses his heat. A tear slips traitorously down her cheek and she nods almost imperceptibly.

She tries to swallow, think of something to say but before she has time to breathe he is on her. His lips are on her neck and his hands are snaking their way up her blouse. His fingers trace the under-wire of her bra, his thumbs smooth the planes of her abdomen.

"Say it," he demands before laving his tongue upwards, settling at her earlobe. Biting and sucking.

"Rick.." she pants and fists his shirt in the palm her hand, tangles the other in his hair.

"Say it," he demands again, scrapes his teeth along the ridge of her collarbone, sucks at the hollow of her throat.

She knows what he's asking.

He's sick of pretending.

That she doesn't know how he feels, that she didn't hear his graveside confession.

He's sick of waiting.

For the right moment, for her mother's case, for a day that may never come.

He's scared shitless that the reason she hasn't made her own disclosure is because she doesn't feel the same way. It sends an ache to her heart and her scar feels likes it's pulling tight. Puckering and bleeding all over again. She has made this man, this courageous and honorable man, into the very thing he has just accused her of. He's a coward for taking this route, for forgetting his words and assaulting her like this. He will regret this later and the last thing she wants with him, for him, is regret. They already share so much.

And so she says it.

"I love you, too."

It's barely audible, a whisper, but he hears it and suddenly, finally, his lips are on hers.

"I love you so much," he breaths into her mouth and she realizes she is crying. And so is he.

Hot tears mingle and coalesce on their cheeks as their mouths meld and twist. Tongues explore and probe and his hands frame her face as though he's afraid she will break, like he's cupping a freshly emerged butterfly or a delicate flower.

His hands are soft and warm, his movements sure. Suddenly being cherished doesn't strike her as being such a bad thing. His gentle strokes and soft caresses fill her with a sense of strength. As though he's feeding her all of his courage and vitality via his mouth. She has no choice but to reciprocate and as he releases her lips and gazes wondrously into her eyes, into her soul, she's no longer afraid to admit that she was wrong.

Their respiration returning to a more normal rate, their hands intertwined, he rests his forehead on hers and asks, "So, Tyson is back?"

She laughs loudly, hugs him tightly and kisses him soundly on the cheek. She wonders how he knows she needs time to process this dramatic and yet surprisingly easy change in relationship status. The loud smack as she disconnects reverberates around the tiled bathroom and he chuckles quietly.

"_That_ is the first thing you have to say?" she says, smacking him playfully on the chest.

"I figured maybe you'd like to change the subject and um..." he looks around as if finally noticing their surroundings. "I was also hoping you'd have a plan on how to get us out of here without betraying our cool exteriors."

She rolls her eyes at him. Realizes that while everything has changed, nothing has really changed at all.

"Come on, Castle. We've got a murder to solve."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, I made _myself_ a little teary with this one. **

**I could end it here; or continue with the case and hope I don't screw up their relationship. ****Thoughts?**


	9. Chapter 9

She unlocks the door, looks left to right quickly, looks left again.

Suddenly he feels as though he's trapped in a 1930s spy movie. Except maybe he's Nora and she's Nick.

No.

He's definitely Asta, the playful terrier tugging her along for the ride. He laughs and shoves her out into the hallway.

"On with it, woman."

"Not a word!" she growls in a harsh whisper but the twinkle in her eye and the way her jaw is all rosy and her lips slightly puffy, a result of his stubble grazing against it earlier, only makes him laugh more. He soothes the rash with his palm, brushes her swollen lips with his thumb and marvels that he is now allowed to do either.

"My lips are sealed." He squeezes her hand and lets it drop to her side.

"For now.." he adds suggestively.

He slowly licks his lips, lets his gaze make a slow appraisal of her body before returning it to hers with a smirk. He's hoping for a reaction.

He earns himself an eye-roll and an eyebrow quirk.

"Go home and take a shower. You stink."

"I'll have you know Detective, I just spent the last eleven hours..."

"Castle!"

"Going, going. Sheesh."

He smiles happily to himself because absolutely nothing has changed.

He smiles because everything has changed and he makes his way towards the elevator. Happy because she loves him, happy because he's home. Happy because as he passes under an air vent there is a definite tang - a bouquet of 'Eau de Castle' mingling contrarily with the none to pleasant aroma of cheap booze - in the air.

And she kissed him anyway.

* * *

><p>He calls his mother and Alexis on the cab ride home and assures himself that they are both fine. Alexis has taken a liking to afternoon massages in the hotel spa and he cringes at the thought of his credit card bill. He is questioned endlessly on his reasons for the sudden return. He doesn't want to worry them about '3XK' and he <em>really<em> doesn't want to clue his mother into the new development on the Beckett front. So he deflects and instead cracks barbs about her culinary skills and his ever dwindling bank account. He assures her when he notes the apologetic tone in her voice and the promises that she found a good contractor, that he's not angry and insists that her and Alexis go on a shopping spree. He suggests that Christmas is coming up and he's been eying a particularly awesome set of 'Steam-punk' cufflinks.

He disconnects as the car pulls up in front of his building.

Arriving at the loft's door he is assaulted by the stench of stale smoke and an unnerving feeling that something isn't right. Tiny hairs prickle on the back of his neck and a warm flood of heat washes over his face. The apples of his cheeks tingle and saliva fills his mouth. He cautiously makes his away around the loft, checks for anything amiss but notes nothing out of sorts apart from the smattering of tools and supplies left by the handyman his mother has hired. His kitchen is almost back to an orderly fashion, it looks like just a few more things need to be repainted and he is pleased his mother didn't decide to paint it red or purple in his absence.

A business card lays on the counter: _TJ's Transformations. Tyler Jerome, General Contractor._

He picks up the card and places it in his wallet, you never know when you might need a good contractor and his kitchen really does look good considering the way he'd left it and especially with it only being four days ago. He shrugs off the odd feeling, along with his clothes, as he makes his way to the shower. The sooner he can bathe himself and catch a quick nap, the sooner he can be back with Kate at the precinct.

* * *

><p><em>It's dark and he is strapped into a chair. He hears nothing but his own rapid exhalations.<em>

_Rope burns at his wrists and the wooden spindles of the chair dig painfully into his ribs. A figure is sprawled out on the floor in front of him. Limp and unmoving. Dread coils in his gut and this time instead of grungy shag carpeting and an Irish detective, it's Kelley-green grass and a woman bleeding red, silently and copiously to the turf below her._

_It's Kate and he is powerless to save her._

* * *

><p>He wakes with a start and quickly dons an outfit, hastily shoves some clothes into a carry-on bag. She will not refuse him this, he decides. He will sleep on her couch if he must, he will sleep on her bed if she allows. One thing is clear though, she will not be alone while a madman is free to kill as he pleases. Especially when that madman has already made one attempt to rattle the team that has become his family.<p>

_Besides, my kitchen is still under construction and a man needs to eat._

With that inspired excuse at the ready, he grabs his belongings and swiftly makes his way back to the Twelfth.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Onward, dear readers. **

**Thank you to all who have added this story to your favorites and/or alerts.**

**A special thanks to all who have reviewed, especially those who take the time for every chapter. You warm the cockles of my heart. What? ****Too much? ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

As she arrives back at her desk, Kate feels her stomach drop to her knees. Sitting entirely too comfortably, on top of her desk, are Detectives Ryan and Esposito.

"Boss," they greet in unison, smug little grins plastered all over their faces.

"Something I can help you with, Gentlemen?"

"I dunno...Beckett.." Ryan hedges.

"Is there?" Esposito supplies, casually reaching to her M&M stash and popping one in his mouth with a smirk. "Something wrong with the ladies room? Anything you care to share?"

She feels the hot flush of embarrassment roll and spread throughout her body, briefly she squeezes her eyes closed and wishes a very large hole will miraculously appear and swallow her whole. When that doesn't happen she attempts option two.

"You saw nothing!" she hisses at them, putting on her very best 'I'm the boss and you're not' voice.

"Mhmm," intones Ryan

"Right," barbs Esposito.

Realizing she's been caught and there's no graceful way out of the situation she lets outs a heavy sigh, acquiesces with no small degree of reluctance.

"Fine. Castle's back."

"And?..." they sing-song.

"And...it's none of your business."

The boys hop off her desk and exchange high-fives and fist bumps. She hears the word, "dude". Repeatedly. She rolls her eyes and rests back in her chair to watch their little exchange. Her friends are annoying, yes, but also very obviously happy for her and she can't hold this against them. Her and Castle may have done a little happy dance of their own when they figured out 'Esplaine' were an item. And now, weeks after their breakup, they are still scheming of ways to get them back together.

Of course they had the good graces to save the dancing until they were in the parking garage. And they scheme via text message.

"Are you two done?" she inquires.

They have the good sense to clear their throats and make their way back over to their own desks.

"Yeah, sorry boss,"

They both mumble their apologies but Esposito's wink and Ryan's squeeze to the shoulder as they depart warm her heart. She's - to a certain degree at least - glad her embarrassment could provide them with a moment of levity. The previous week, hell, the previous year has assailed her team with well more than their fare share of heartache and bad news. She will let them have this one.

It probably helped that she was still basking in a warm and fuzzy afterglow from the smoking hot encounter in the bathroom. She'd think about the declarations and what they would mean later. Right now they had a case to solve.

"Guys!" she yells across the bullpen. "We got anything new on Tyson?"

"Nothing," Ryan shakes his head sadly.

"The guy's a fucking ghost," Esposito growls to no one in particular.

"Let's hope Lanie finds something," she replies quietly.

The next four hours are spent checking and rechecking files. Following up on other leads, endless phone calls, endless paperwork, two hours of grainy surveillance footage revealing absolutely nothing. She badgers the medical examiner to the first two victims, Dr. Goodhue, until he refuses to take her calls. She bugs Lanie until physical violence is threatened and she is promised to hear the minute anything new is discovered.

"_As always."_

"_Thank you very much." _

"_You and I will talk later." _

"_I heard about the mensroom, Miss Beckett."_

With an irritated glare shot to Esposito, she taps her foot anxiously against her desk and misses her partner. She assures herself it's just his insight and not his teeth scraping along her jaw or his tongue sampling at her lips.

_Everything leads back to Tyson. _

Three bodies, laid out and arranged peacefully in semi-public locations. Smothered instead of strangled but her gut is screaming _"Tyson"_ and her gut isn't often wrong.

She's chewing on her nails, with her head bowed and her eyes closed when she hears it. A rhythmical squeak of plastic wheels rolling along linoleum flooring.

As she draws her eyes upwards she sees well shined shoes and dark washed jeans, a deep plum shirt draped deliciously over a broad, firm, chest.

"Detective." He leers, laying one of his most charming smiles on her and she is almost undone.

"What.." she lets her eyes travel to the carry-on and back again to his face, "..is that?"

"Luggage," he supplies helpfully. The hopeful glimmer in his eyes whittles away at what little resolve she is trying to hold on to.

She knows what he is up to. He's planning to move in and keep her safe, play caveman and probably house while he's at it. It isn't an entirely unappealing offer but she is the one supposed to 'protect and serve'. She is also perhaps just a little freaked out about the sudden shift in their partnership, relationship, whatever the hell this is.

"Castle." She begins fidgeting with the smallest elephant figurine on her desk.

"Don't." She looks up quickly and he levels her with an even stare. Clear blue eyes bore into hazel.

It is both a warning and a plea.

"_Don't you dare take back what you said". _

"_I'll do it again, this time in public."_

"_You'll break me." _

And the last of her wall slips away. She is expecting to panic, to backpedal and to make excuses. However; she feels calm and surprisingly comforted by his oafish assumptions. She rather likes this new and forceful Rick.

_Down, girl._

"..'Kay"

He sits happily in his usual chair and looks expectantly towards her.

"So what do we have?"

"Nothing but gut instinct," she spits out irritably. She walks to the board, flips it around so he can see and hears him gasp.

"Kate.."

_Oh. The victims. He didn't know._

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"While your tongue was down my throat and your hands up my shirt?"

"Touche." He stands and walks over to where she's leaning up against an empty desk, scoots her over with a shove of his hips and gives her hand a furtive squeeze. "We'll figure it out."

She blows out in a low whisper, "I just wish I knew how."

"Come on," he tugs her up and towards the elevator. "I'll buy you lunch."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Never fear; you dirty, rotten, scoundrels. Sexy-times ahead. Please excuse the plot.**


	11. Chapter 11

She feels the warmth of his breath at her neck, like wispy fingers tickling lightly behind her ears, as the elevator doors close. She feels a wave of déjà vu and lets out a small moan of frustration with the memory of her recent dreams.

"You okay?" he asks, concern clouding his features.

"Mm.." she mumbles noncommittally.

He strokes her thigh with the side of his hand idly, a gesture of solidarity that her disloyal body takes entirely differently. She chews at her bottom lip, willing herself to calm down. The precinct, despite her night musings, is no place for this kind of activity. It's bad enough she'll never be able to pass the mensroom without a smirk again.

"Kate.." he urges, all soulful and sincere. Worried and tender.

His smooth voice wraps itself around her name like butter, glides in and shatters all thoughts of self-control from her mind; before he has time to protest she has him up against the elevator wall, hands pinned above his head.

* * *

><p>He has dreamed of this moment for years but fantasy has nothing on reality.<p>

He closes his eyes and delights in the touch of her lips to his, her leg snaking it's way around his, her heel digging painfully behind his knee. Definitely not painful enough to make her stop, he thinks with a throaty groan.

She has him trapped up against the wall, her body molding smoothly to his, his hands still pinned artfully above them with just one of hers. He mentally praises her police training, luxuriates in her scent, gasps as she runs her tongue lightly along his lips.

"Wicked woman," he curses against her mouth.

She hesitates for a second and he takes her mouth with his, draws her back in before awareness rears it's ugly head and kills this glorious moment.

It is only a matter of time before she comes to her senses and realizes exactly where she is and exactly what she is doing. No need to hurry her along to that conclusion, he thinks and resolves to keep his mouth otherwise occupied and non-verbal.

She is doing exquisite things to his mouth.. jaw.. ear..

_Mm, neck..how does she know?_

He moans softly, lets her lead, quite certain this is as much about regaining the upper hand lost in the bathroom as much as it is about need or passion.

If Kate wants to win some kind of battle of the sexes though, he for one, isn't going to argue. Not when her mouth is doing such delicious things to his own.

He pulls ruefully away as he feels the elevator slow and reach the ground floor. Gently, he blows a stray curl from her face.

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs, kisses her softly on the jaw.

"Rick, we can't keep doing this," she says seriously, patting down her shirt and adjusting her hair.

"Why, Katherine Beckett, you little.._I_ didn't..and _you_!"

"Oh. Yeah." She laughs loudly and has the good graces to blush.

It takes all his power not to drag her back in to the compartment, hit the emergency button and finish what she started.

* * *

><p>"So, what now," he motions between the two of them as they walk side by side, towards a local deli they frequent for quick lunches. "Us, I mean."<p>

Kate runs a hand through her hair and says nothing, unconsciously snuggles into his side as the cold winter air blows around them. His warmth is comforting. And new. And scary.

He's waiting but says nothing; just pulls her a little closer and shields her from the wind. He's strong and warm and it feels so right.

_What now?_

He brushes a light kiss to her forehead as they arrive at the deli. "I can hear you thinking."

"I don't know. We need to slow down. We need to solve this case. We don't need to slow down? We need a bed? We need lunch. We need.." she sighs and leads him into the deli. "God, I have no clue, Rick. This is all so sudden."

He laughs out loud, "Four years is sudden?" He squeezes her arm and bumps shoulders with her.

"Okay, well..maybe not _that_ sudden," she rolls her eyes, glares at him for good measure, slides into the booth and pats the seat next to her.

Rick takes a seat next to her, rests his right arm on the table, his head in his hand and gazes fondly at her.

"Can I ask you out on a date, Detective?" he asks with a hopeful smile.

"A date? Really?"

She looks slightly confused and he understands where she is going with her thoughts. Dates are usually more of a 'get to know you' arrangement, a 'lets see if we will work' situation, they are so far beyond that it's laughable.

And yet, he wants to wine and dine her, leave her with a good-night kiss. Leave her waiting for the next date and checking her phone for a text or missed call. He wants to do this right.

"It's just, we seem to be doing this all backwards, what with the making out and the.. the um..caring about each other."

"You can say it, you know."

"I can?"

"I meant what I said."

His eyes light up and she feels a wave of guilt overcome her for letting him believe she hadn't heard all those months ago. She'd been trying to save herself, both of them really, but mainly herself from feeling anything more than friendship. Afraid of being hurt, afraid of hurting him.

All she's succeeded in doing is wasting time. She feels awful.

With tears blurring her visions she takes his hand in hers and whispers, "I love you. I'm terrified and I'm going to be a pain in your ass but I love you."

Kissing his palm softly, she continues in a stronger tone, "Think of this as a decision. I've decided to let myself love you, to let you love me. And while it's completely against my beliefs to let anyone love me again.."

She gives him a quick roll of her eyes to indicate she knows how ridiculous it sounds.

He strokes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and smiles for her to continue as though he understands what she's trying to say.

"I _trust_ you, Rick. I trust you to love me. As terrified as I am, I've realized that not letting you love me.. would be much sadder than getting hurt again."

"Wow," he breathes. "I..wow."

He sits up straighter now, serious and confident.

"Let me take you to dinner. Let me bring you flowers and hold your hand. Let me kiss you because you're just so gorgeous that I can't help myself any longer. Not because I'm terrified of losing you but because words are not nearly adequate to describe what you mean to me."

He smiles wide and openly, and she can't help but smile back. It feels like a weight has been lifted and she can breath a little easier.

"I love you so much. I feel like I've just released I breath I didn't even know I'd been holding," he says, studying her face as if for the first time.

She raises an eyebrow.

"You're right. That was cheesy. Even for me. Would you settle for _always_?"

"Always, Rick."

* * *

><p>They continue about lunch in a daze, more interested in the feeling of warmth enveloping them than the tepid meal of soup and sandwiches rapidly cooling before them. Goofy smiles adorn their faces and their hand linger over passing the salt, the cream.<p>

It surprises them when the shrill ring of Kate's phone breaks the reverie.

"Beckett," Kate snaps, detective mode clearly back in place.

"Hey girl, I got something. You need to get down here now."

"We're on our way," she closes the phone, throws a twenty on the table and pushes Rick out of the booth.

"Come on, Lover-boy, Lanie awaits."

"We get to use nicknames now?"

"Call me anything new in the precinct and you're a dead man. I know how to hide a body."

He pouts and she can't help but smile.

Giving his drooping lower lip a tug she whispers, "In the bedroom though, all bets are off," she taps his nose and struts away from him, a smug little smile playing at her features.

He exclaims what could only be described as a whoop of joy and happily trots along side her.

"Love you, Babe!"

"Castle.."

"Pookie?"

"Really?"

"Sorry, sorry. Lead on, Detective Beckett."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Too schmoopy? I agonized over this one. They_ needed_ to have a conversation but sheesh..they weren't playing very nice tonight. Although I'm fairly happy with what's here now. **


	12. Chapter 12

They walk back to the precinct briskly, the butterflies from lunch replaced with a tingling of excitement, the possibility of a new lead in the case. If Lanie is calling after the grief she has given her friend today, it must be something substantial. They need all the help they can get, they have been floundering with nothing to go on but flimsy theory and gut instinct. Evidence is what they need. Something solid to wrap their hands and heads around. Concrete proof of the visceral knowledge they all share.

Rick smirks as they enter the elevator down to the morgue but says nothing, he keeps a professional distance between them. A solid twelve inches. As the elevator descends she sends out a silent prayer of thanks that he realizes her need to keep the work and their private lives separate. She needs this sense of control like she needs air to breathe.

Losing herself to Castle, twice, in the span of a few hours has uncoiled the tightly wound string of restraint and composure that she relies upon. She prides herself on the ability to separate, to regulate, to quell her emotions. She's has a decade of practice, too wounded to bear the gravity of anyone's affections past friendship or camaraderie.

Richard Castle has sauntered into her life like a cocky bass player in a soulful blues band. Picked her up and plucked at her heartstrings with care and affection, caressed her mind like a guitarist would a prized Gibson.

The steady rhythmic pulse of his concern chips away at her walls. His endless charm is a riff, emphasizing all that she is missing, all that she could have. Gently urging her to follow along to the melody of living again. He's not her whole life, but he has become a necessary accompaniment, bringing harmony to her sometimes disjointed lead.

She feels him watching her, stealing sideways glances. Feels his need to hold her coming off him in heated waves. His restraint fills her with a sense of liberation. By throwing her the lead he is unshackling her from worries she didn't even realize she was holding on to. The fear that his fame and wealth will somehow doom them before they even begin, the fear she won't be taken seriously in a career dominated by middle-aged men if she pursues something more with him. The fear she will never fit into his perfect little family, that if she shows all of herself to him he will run screaming back to his previous life.

He trusts her, she realizes. With them, both his family and this new relationship and he is letting her set the tempo.

She realizes much too late that he already knows her; the good, the bad, the appalling and the frightening. While she was busy building up walls, he was doggedly excavating below, setting down roots and tangling himself irrevocably around her heart. He's laid all the foundation while she worried about the facade. She's so tired of wasting time. She's weary and burnt out.

He's written her the verses and composed the chorus. She's finally crossed the bridge. All she needs to do now is hang on for the finale, a sanguine duet sure to cause a stir.

Laying their feelings on the line has invigorated her and ignited a spark long missing.

"Thanks." she remarks with a bright smile as they exit the compartment.

"Always," he replies lightly, sensing she needs to hear it, to know that he understands.

The cadence of her heels echoes on the marble floors of the long hallway towards the autopsy bay. There's a spring in her step, and a purpose to her posture. Not a word was spoken in the cab of the elevator but he feels like a page has been turned. She takes his hand, with it his heart, and leads him into the morgue.

"What have you got for us Lanie?" she asks with a smile and a nod towards her friend. She shyly bites her lip on a tight grin and waits for the onslaught. The M.E. may not be a detective but this small expression of their new-found closeness is certain to raise a response.

She is not disappointed.

"Girl!... Richard Castle!"

Her eyes flit to each of their faces, down to their joined hands, back again to their faces.

"Really?" It comes out more of a squeal than a question.

Kate nods once, slowly, waits for the expected happy dance or "I told you so", and is surprised when the M.E. walks slowly over to their side of the bland room and gathers them into a tight embrace.

"It's about damn time," she whispers, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. With one, final squeeze, she detaches herself and paces back over to the slab, clucking and humming affirmations to herself.

"I found something..disturbing," she continues after a long breath. "The previous examiner is correct, suffocation is the cause of death and there was no trace evidence left behind on the rest of the bodies. Here's where it gets odd though, I never would have noticed it on the first two bodies, it was so small. This victim here though, she was wearing false nails."

"You found DNA?" Kate eagerly asks, he face brightening with a hopeful expression.

"Sorry, no luck there but this might be better. Since we are still under the assumption that 3XK is behind this?"

"We are and why is this better?" Kate inclines her head for the doctor to continue.

"Well, this.." she raises something with a long pair of tweezers and they both lean inwards to see.

"I don't see anything." Rick supplies confused.

"Exactly," Lanie goes on, "At first, even under the microscope I missed it. It looked like all the other.." she stops for an exaggerated shudder, "..unmentionable things I find under false nails. Girl, those things are a breeding ground for na-ass-tee!"

"Lanie," Kate groans, "what did you find? And again, why is it better?"

"A clue, letters."

"Letters?" They reply in unison.

"Mhmm. They have been meticulously crafted - it looks like heavy paper, gold paint – definitely achieved with a microscope. You see the markings now?" She waits while they both peer into the scope.

"They were inserted under the nail bed of the first two victims. I guess when he realized these ones were acrylic, he went for the easier option. Or.." she trails off, theory is more their specialty than hers.

"Or?"

"Or maybe he's decided we're slow and need to catch on quicker?" she shrugs.

"I don't know if I ever would have found the first two without finding this one." she huffs irritably, annoyed with herself for not noticing sooner.

"So, letters: An 'M', an 'R' and an 'A'. It's all I've got for you, I know it's not much..but it's something right?"

Rick peers back into the scope and murmurs, "He's trying to tell us something."

"Yeah but what Rick? M,R,A? That's not much to go on. Arm, ram, mar. Does it mean anything to you?"

"Aw, 'Rick'. That's cute."

"Shut up Lanie", they reply together.

She chuckles and pokes Kate in the ribs.

"So happy," she mouths to Kate.

Kate's phone rings loudly and provides a welcome distraction from the doctor's lingering smirk.

"Beckett...what have we got...where...we're on our way." Kate places the phone in her pocket with a grimace and a nod to her friend.

"Sorry Lanes, we'll have to catch up later, we've got a fresh one."

Rick's eyebrows raise and his features cloud over with trepidation. She watches as he takes a large gulp and steels himself. His adam's apple bobs slowly in his throat and she knows instantly where his mind is going.

He's picturing another body. A striking facsimile of herself, laid coldly out in an alley for discovery.

"Middle-aged female, stabbing, doesn't sound like a connection."

Relief edges it's way to his eyes and she gives him a nudge. "Come on , Lover-boy. Murder and mayhem awaits. Your favorite."

"I thought you said no nicknames at work."

"Yeah, for _me_."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Doll-face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I like this one. Et tu?**


	13. Chapter 13

A light snow falls as they exit the Crown Vic. Not enough to stick, just enough to be pretty, to blur the sharp edges and jagged, gray lines of the city. The air is still and hovering just around freezing. Not too cold, it's almost pleasant as the afternoon sun warms her face and the snowflakes melt swiftly on her skin.

_Tranquil,_ she thinks.

It reminds Kate that the new year is fast approaching, she hopes to start a new chapter in her life. First though, they have a case to solve.

_Two cases now,_ she thinks with an inward groan as they round the corner on foot towards fifth.

The bright Christmas displays in the high-end store windows make her think about getting a tree. The flashing lights and yellow tape snap her out of her musing and place her firmly back into police mode.

* * *

><p>The alley is narrow, squalid and disgusting; high contrast to the hustle and bustle, the glamor, mere feet away on Fifth Avenue. High windows are covered in filth, blacked out and useless, years of soot and grime obscuring their view. Small blades of grass try peeking their head through the broken flagstone path and garbage lines the borders. The victim lays posed in the center of all this filth, as though simply catching a nap. She is dressed well, a lime green suit and expensive heels. Bile rises in Kate's throat as the shock of flame-red hair swims into her vision.<p>

_Oh. Oh no. Oh God, Castle. No._

She spins quickly, thrusts a hand to his chest to stop his forward progression but she is too late. He's seen what she's seen. She grabs his shaking hand and he lilts slightly back and forth, he takes a breath and straightens his spine before speaking in a rough voice.

"I have to know."

"I know you do."

She pulls him in for an unyielding hug, reaches on tip toes to place a kiss on his forehead and stays at his side, not caring at all about appearances as he slowly makes his way towards the body.

"Together," she breaths.

He squeezes his eye shut, a quick nod. He's ready.

* * *

><p>The air leaves his lungs in a giant whoosh. Relief seeps into his bones along with an anguish he's never known.<p>

_It's not mother._

_It's someones mother._

_This is 3XK_

_Kate's not the only target._

_Fuck!_

Kate pulls him away and he collapses to the wall behind him, sinks to his heels in a prayer. Thanks and relief war with confusion and inquisition. What kind of God would send a monster like this to terrorize the city? Shudders rack through his body, tears silently roll down his jaw and drip onto his lapels. She is crouched now, between his legs, her hands firmly gripping his thighs. She anchors him in place, stops his rocking from side to side and she waits.

"Kate.."

"It's not her."

"It could have been..it still could be. It could be you. It could be Ale.."

A fresh tide of fear and pain washes over him, surrounds him like a shroud. He grips her hands tightly and locks onto her gaze, searching for answers. For mercy.

"Yes. It could have. But it wasn't."

He is grateful for her honesty, the last thing he needs is platitudes and comforting words.

"If I didn't.."

"No."

That simple word and the look of certainty on her face stills him and releases a tension he didn't know he'd even been holding on to. The festering guilt and feelings of inadequacy since Tyson had last escaped their grasp. She pulls him up to standing, smooths his jacket, uses her thumb to wipe a stray trail of moisture from his cheek.

"_You _did not do this. You do _not_ deserve this. We _will_ get him. Are we clear?"

She's all business and brawn, confident cop mode firmly in place. Arched eyebrow, tight-lipped grimace.

Detective Kate Beckett, N.Y.P.D.

He couldn't love her any more for it.

"Got it." he nods firmly. He believes her.

"Good," she softens, "Go call your family. Give me half an hour here, I'll meet you back at the car."

As he's walking away he hears her call softly, "A latte wouldn't hurt right about now, either."

He grins as he pulls out his phone to call Alexis.

The sneaky woman has not only known his need to confirm his family's safety, she's also managed to divert him from the scene with wishes for caffeine that she knows he won't refuse. Everything he needs and nothing he would have asked for.

_Extraordinary._

* * *

><p>He spies her familiar figure from half a block away; tall, lithe, instantly recognizable.<p>

The breeze and last vestiges of late afternoon sunlight filter through her hair, snowflakes stick like confetti to her long, auburn locks. She's leaning up against the sedan with her eyes closed and her chin raised, a secretive smile gracing her lips. He's about to call out to her when he sees her tongue slip out from between her lips, her mouth opening to catch the falling crystals. He stops for a second to let her savor the moment and to catalog it in his mind. She has never looked more childlike, innocent... beautiful. His earlier distress is fading into memory with his family's assurances they are fine and the picture presented before him.

He takes his time as he strolls towards her and cracks an adoring smile as she opens her eyes.

"Hey, Castle," she grins. "You get a hold of them?"

"Yeah, they're fine. Under orders not to leave the Carlyle." He hands her the requested latte and sips on his own. Not wanting to break the spell, his mind still basking in the vision of her in a rare moment of peace, he offers her his arm.

"Walk with me?"

"Sure." She offers him a pleased grin.

They walk down Fifth, stopping at various stores to window shop. Her eyes light up at a pair of boots in the window of Louis Vuitton but she scoffs at the price and moves on. Her makes a note to buy them. Four inch heel, cashmere and mink gaiter. How could he not? He's already created four or five fantasies to accompany them.

"Oh Castle, look!"

She's almost running down the sidewalk and he has to lengthen his stride and pick up the pace to keep up.

_What on earth...?_

"Bergdorf's," she whispers almost reverently.

Her eyes are shining and her smile is as wide and bright as he's ever seen.

The "Carnival of the Animals" the display reads. Metal birds and silk fans, mosaic tile and rhinestone fish. A window of animals made entirely of paper. A polar bear in a chef's hat and a crystal chandelier.

It's so very 'Kate'.

"Mom used to bring me here to see the windows, every Christmas."

_Oh._

She sighs but he notes the almost content note to it and he wonders when she let some of that pain go. When she decided to let herself be happy.

_Oh. Right. Lunch._

"Baby, it's Cold Outside" plays quietly over the speakers; a soothing melody, pleasing harmony. Soft, white Christmas lights twinkle upon the aquatic scene, casting a watery, azure glow across her features.

"Dance with me," he whispers into her hair.

And so they do.

It's the calm before the storm that they both know is coming. A moment to take stock and count their blessings before chasing headlong into the fire. They speak in hushed whispers, his arms slung low on her waist, hers wrapped loosely around his neck. He gazes into her eyes and she tells him it's going to be okay, she buries her head into his neck and he whispers of love and forever.

The song ends and she takes his hand. "Come on Rick, it's late and the labs won't be in until morning. Take me home."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: What's this? Two updates in one day? I better have an inbox overflowing with muse-fodder when I wake up. ;) **

**Nah. Review if it moves you, don't if it doesn't. Pray my mojo continues. I was a little worried about this story yesterday but I once again see a semi-clear path to follow.**


	14. Chapter 14

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm trying to be a gentleman."

She paces into her apartment not bothering to look behind her, leaves the front door open. She knows he'll follow, he always follows.

Which is why she is so incredibly frustrated with him right now.

* * *

><p>The argument had started during the short car ride home. He apologized for insinuating himself into her home, asked her several times if she was sure. Always the man of honor he even offered to stay with his mother and daughter at the hotel if she wasn't comfortable with his being there.<p>

She told him with a slightly raised eyebrow and a largely confused expression on her face not to worry about it, that she was happy that he was at her side.

She'd meant it.

And he'd disregarded it in his zeal to be chivalrous.

He persisted, ranted on and on about doing it right, about dating and flowers and starting over when they caught the Triple Killer. So wrapped up in his previous fantasies about how this thing between them would start that he was suddenly seemingly oblivious to the fact that it had already begun.

The sentiment was sweet in retrospect. Bewildering in the moment.

He continued in the elevator up to her place, wringing his hands, not looking her in the eye. Acting more like a angst ridden teen on a first date than the passionate, assured man she had grown to love, want, _need. _

The man had spent four years proving his love, she'd spent the last day trying to show him hers, show him that she was ready. Hell, she'd _told_ him. No small feat for the woman who had spent every serious relationship of her adult life with one foot out the door.

And now this?

His sudden urge to overcompensate, back track and withdraw was exasperating. When had the cocksure, brazen, Richard Castle that she relied upon become the cautious and hesitant man before her?

This was much more _her_ style; it was unnerving her immensely.

He said he just needed a place to stay because his kitchen wasn't finished, he said he'd cook her dinner and sleep on the couch.

She saw red.

She felt her nostrils flare, her eyes squint and her brow furrow. Static echoed between her ears and she felt her control snap. As they exited the elevator she looked him in the eye, shoved him by a shoulder into the wall and began spewing angry words like a long dormant volcano, releasing her pent up frustrations.

"You have got to be fucking_ kidding_ me", she spat. "You _just_ need a place to stay? What the hell have we been doing for the last week? _Fuck_ Rick, the last year? Four years? You need a place to _fucking stay_?"

Her expletive laced diatribe seemed to snap him out of his mad ravings.

He blinked. Once, twice. His eyes went wide and he stuttered a little.

"Shit, Kate..you know that's not what I meant..I just thought..."

"No.. you didn't," she sighed, backing out of his space and pulling her keys out of her pocket.

* * *

><p>"Kate.." he closed the door quietly and came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned his head on her shoulder.<p>

"Can I get a do-over?" he exhaled into her hair, wrapping his arms a little tighter. He didn't know if it was more to keep her from running or to protect himself from her wrath.

He wonders what the hell is wrong with him. He's finally,_ finally,_ reaping the rewards of four years hard work and wall-whittling only to panic the minute she accepts his advances. He'd slap himself if he wasn't so busy trying to prevent her from doing the same.

He feels it when she lets go of her anger. Her shoulders slump and the persistent tapping of her foot slows to an occasional twitch. His body starts to respond to her close proximity, her inviting smell and he wisely untangles himself before he can get into any more trouble.

"You wanna explain yourself?" she suggests, moving into the kitchen and rooting around the cabinets for wine glasses.

"I'm an ass?"

She huffs and reaches for a bottle. A very nice bottle he notices. He sees a sliver of hope for himself yet. Surely if she was going to send him packing she would pick out something more commonplace. Something in a box or a shot of whiskey perhaps. A finely-aged red suggests forgiveness. His heart beats a little slower in his chest, the vise releases it's grip a notch.

"Quit staring and order us some food," she commands.

"Yes, Ma'am," he chuckles pulling out his phone. "Thai?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice," she replies and he notes the small smile beginning to form at the corners of her mouth.

* * *

><p>They spend the rest of the evening slowly regaining their balance.<p>

The food is delicious, exotic and spicy. Mangoes and basil, coconut milk and peanut. Different flavors contrasting and mingling, striking a perfect balance between sweet and heat.

Like us, he thinks.

Even better it gives them something to laugh about when he mistakenly chews on a raging hot pepper. Tears spill down his cheeks and his face is five shades of red. He's coughing and spluttering and she's biting on her lip, covering her eyes and trying not to laugh at him.

"Dumb-ass," she finally laughs and he revels in the insult.

The sound of her happy giggle is like a cool drink of water.

"Gravy-headed bacon-nugget," he responds drolly.

"Slime-speckled donkey-puffer," she smirks.

"Why, Katherine Beckett. Does your father know about this mouth of yours?"

She smacks him playfully on the chest and pokes him meaningfully in the ribs.

"I'm still mad at you," she says seriously.

"I still love you," he replies, more so.

She shoots him a brilliant smile, all white teeth and pink gums. Tempting red lips. He thinks if she ever gets tired of police work she could moonlight as a toothpaste spokeswoman.

A flush rises to her cheeks as he watches her contentedly, her gaze flicks to his lips but she rises from the couch and begins to gather their plates. He picks up the glasses and follows her into the kitchen. They stand side by side, washing dishes and shooting each other longing glances.

Kate wants nothing more than to grab him and pull him into a fierce embrace. Drag him into the bedroom and show him exactly what she means when she says she's ready. But she's still a little annoyed with him and his earlier display of lunacy. She's also willing to admit he may have had a point about slowing things down and enjoying the part they have, so far, missed.

"You're sleeping on the couch," she grumbles as she reaches into the linen closet for a pillow and spare blanket.

"Isn't that how this whole thing.."

"Don't.." she cuts him off with a glare and he wisely changed tactics.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, my lady."

"That's better," she smiles, laying the bedding on the couch and kissing him gently on the lips.

"Until tomorrow, Cupcake."

"Don't push it." she admonishes with a small smirk as she leans against the door frame to her room, not quite ready to say goodnight.

"Honey?"

She grimaces and he tries one more.

"Angel," he sighs on a warm breath.

"Hmm...better," she replies as butterflies start flapping wildly in her stomach.

"Goodnight Kate," he grins knowingly, fluffing the pillow and spreading out the blanket on the sofa. He notes the way her eyes crinkled and her lips quirked at that last moniker and promises himself to use it at least once per day.

"Goodnight Rick"

* * *

><p>She tosses and turns, finds no position comfortable; and in the quiet, solitude of her darkened bedroom, she questions the logic in making him sleep on the couch. She has spent countless nights imagining him in her bed. Waking up to his unique smell, to his arms wrapped protectively around her waist. Hushed whispers and warm embraces.<p>

While once she found comfort in her isolated and solitary existence, more recently she just feels lonely.

Barring tigers and kidnappers hell-bent on malfeasance, the recent morning and subsequent day she woke cuffed to Castle was one of her fondest, new memories. She had enigmatically promised 'next time'.

'Next time' _could_ be now. All she has to do is ask.

She shuffles out to the living room and gazes towards the writer laying on her sofa. His arm dangles limply to the floor and his feet are curled awkwardly under a cushion. He looks awfully uncomfortable and yet a contented smile adorns his lips.

Decision made, she grasps his hand and gently pulls.

"Come on, Writer Monkey," she hushes and he slowly blinks open his eyes, questioning and patient. Expectant.

"I was lonely," she shrugs.

He doesn't need a second invitation and happily follows her back to her bed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: As always thanks for the reviews, favs, alerts, sharing, etc. Of course, more would never hurt. I'm greedy like that.**

**Irina: You are my hero. Thank you for kicking my ass to write something.**


	15. Chapter 15

She lays quietly in bed, Rick's arm secured loosely around her waist; anchoring himself to her and yet, even in sleep, still allowing her space. Soft rays of early dawn light finger at their entwined legs and she feels warm, regular puffs of air at the nape of her neck. She like the ways his body curves around hers, the warm air circulating at the small of her back, between her slightly parted thighs, an electricity flowing amongst their barely separated skin. She fingers at the downy hair on his forearm, strokes lazily and enjoys the early morning stillness.

She had no idea sleeping, just sleeping, and waking up with this man would bring be such a sense of satisfaction.

His fingers brush lightly across her abdomen and she lets out a contended hum.

"Mornin' beautiful," he murmurs roughly, not quite wakeful.

"Mm," she sighs happily, his arm raises to caress her collar bone and she brushes a light kiss upon his wrist as it passes by. He kisses her in return, a tender touch to the back of her neck and she snuggles a hair closer, feels the effect their close proximity is having on him.

"Good morning to you too," she chuckles and wiggles her hips suggestively, effectively trapping his morning erection between her pajama covered cheeks.

"Stay still, woman." he growls on a sharp intake of breath. He makes a move as if to disentangle himself, she groans inwardly that his uncertainty from last night is still seemingly festering.

What more must she do? She's told him she loves him, invited him to her bed. Does he need an invitation?

Stupid man.

She can arrange that though.

"Don't get up, stay in bed," she almost purrs and rolls towards him with a challenging gaze, her teeth biting into a suggestive leer.

His eyes spark to life, his adam's apple bobs up and down along with the rather impressive tent in his boxers. She senses he ready, definitely able. Maybe not quite willing yet.

He places a hand on her chest, strokes through the thin material of her shirt, his thumb tracing the circular scar almost reverently; as though he can't quite believe she's even here to be offering.

"Kate, are you sure?" he asks, as serious as she's ever seen him. His eyes are questioning and hopeful, behind that dark, with carefully restrained lust.

She nods, once. Slowly and deliberately. She tells him with her eyes, with a gentle smoothing of his brow, with the rapid beating of her heart but more importantly her mouth.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>They lay quietly, side by side. Staring at the ceiling with silly grins plastered on their faces. Just their fingers entwined, a light sheen of perspiration broken out on their cooling bodies.<p>

_Their lovemaking had been everything she'd dreamed. _

_More. Better._

_He was gentle, surprisingly generous. He took his time to map out her body, trace the planes and mounds of her body in fine detail. He'd walked his fingers lightly up her arms and laved his tongue in an intricate pattern along her spine. _

_It had been lightly teasing and exceedingly fun, too. She'd moaned of his laziness, cried that she needed him. Now. He'd chided her on her impatience and started in on a long monologue about the virtues of patience. She'd quickly assuaged him with a flip to his back and a long, wet lick from toe to trunk. He'd smacked her playfully on the behind and asked her what her safe word was._

_He'd buried himself in her and made himself at home. Sank within her again, over and over until she had cried for his release. He had shuddered with his climax and collapsed in an ungraceful heap on top of her._

"_Get offa me, you oaf!" she'd cried, her voice muffled with a sweaty pectoral muscle._

_And that is how they had ended up here, staring at her blank ceiling, side by side._

_Smug, satiated, satisfied._

* * *

><p>"That was fun," he grins. "Let's do it again!"<p>

She is seriously contemplating the thought when the phone brings them both out of their post-coital haze.

"Duty calls," she sighs, reaching for the offending gadget and smacking his wandering hands away as she grunts an unhappy greeting.

"Beckett.."

"Labs are back. You probably want to see this." It's Lanie and she's all business. Not even a hint of innuendo or teasing.

"We're on our way."

"_We_ are,are _we_?"

_Ah, there it is. _

"Half an hour Lanes, _we'll_ be there."

She's not even going to try and deny it. What good would it do at this point? Waking up next to this man, every morning? It's well and truly worth the badgering and torment the precinct is sure to provide in the coming weeks.

He's peppering light kisses up and down her forearm, sucking lightly at her wrist.

_Mm, well and truly worth it. _

"Come on, Romeo. Murder awaits!" she brightly announces, dragging her arm away from his ministrations.

"You couldn't have been a school-teacher? A receptionist?" he groans.

"But then you'd miss out on the handcuffs...you're gonna _love_ those," she winks and slams the bathroom door in his face as he runs to catch up to her.

"Wicked woman!" he shouts to the door.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I was gonna add this to last night's chapter but thought it deserved it's own. **

**It was ones of the first scenes I imagined when I first started writing this little nugget of Casketty goodness. Also, it's _THE_ chapter, so I'm -understandably I think - a little nervous about posting it. Geez, you guys are pesky with your messages and pleading for resolution. **


	16. Chapter 16

"So what do we have, Lanie?" says Kate, as she flops down on a stool next to the medical examiner.

Lanie looks Kate up and down, squints her eyes as though trying to gauge something. A small smile plays on her lips. She decides to ignore the dreamy look on her friends face and the exhausted way she's lounging over the slab.

For now.

"Another letter..'T', also I found a smudging on the vic's jacket. Like some kind of chemical residue, looks to be paint thinner. I can get a specific brand for you but it's gonna take a couple days."

"Paint thinner?" Kate looks up hopefully.

She desperately wants this case to be over with before the holidays, there's only six days left and she still hasn't begun Christmas shopping for her small but important group of friends and family. She also hates the idea of having her first Christmas with Rick marred by the Triple Killer running around claiming victims who happen to look exactly like his family.

She's imagining sipping eggnog by his fire, trimming a giant tree in his living room, waking up next to him in bed and having him whisper "Merry Christmas, Kate" in her ear for the first time.

At the rate this case is going, they'll be holed up in a dingy hotel in witness protection, while a lunatic continues his murderous spree.

"Yeah," Lanie waits a beat until Kate loses the faraway look in her eyes.

"Looks like it might have rubbed off from the perp while he was attacking her. No other traces on the body or clothing and she doesn't really look like the 'type' for paint thinner if you know what I mean? Judging by the jewelery and clothing she's definitely more of an 'uptown girl'. It appears he grabbed her from behind and wrestled her to the ground, that's my best guess as to when the transfer occurred. Four stab wounds to the abdomen. This nasty one here to the chest," Lanie points with a bit of a grimace to the photos laid out on the now empty slab, "I've determined as cause of death. It punctured her lung and severed an artery, causing a relatively swift death thereafter."

"Thanks, Lanie. Anything else?"

"Oh, so, _so much,_ more. We need to talk about you and Writer-boy. I need details. Lots and lots of details. Preferably over drinks though. Tonight?" she asks with a quirk of her eyebrow. "Speaking of Writer-boy, where is he? I kind of figured he'd be attached to your hip right about now."

"He had to go home and check on his kitchen." Kate replies absently, that faraway look back.

Lanie smirks, congratulates herself on her finely honed detective skills.

"Aha! So he was there! No wonder you were so cranky when I called this morning. Wait, his kitchen?" she asks.

"It's a long story involving Martha, Alexis, breakfast and fire. I'll fill you in tonight. Drinks right?" she winks, it's been ages since she has had the chance to just sit and talk with her best friend. She's rather looking forward to a little bit of girl talk and relaxation, she's also trying to avoid the topic of Castle at work. Lord knows if they get started, she'll be in the morgue all day, no work will be done and Gates will be on her case about wasting precious government resources and proper time-management strategies.

"Anyway, he had to go check on that. He said he'd be here this afternoon after he saved his credit card from further damage. Martha and Alexis are staying at the Carlyle." she smiles, grateful to dodge the Castle topic and steer it to a more brief subject.

"And I_ wasn't_ cranky," she adds with a mock glare, standing up, preparing to leave.

"Oooh, fancy." Lanie nudges her in the side. "I've always wanted to stay there. Must be nice"

"_Right_?"

"Don't "_right_" me girlfriend. You do realize that when you marry that boy, all that and more will be yours?"

"Please Lanie, I'm not after him for his money."

"Ah, but you _are_ after him. I notice you didn't deny anything about the marriage part of that sentence, either." She thinks to herself she may have a budding career up on the homicide floor.

Kate realizes they are back firmly in Castle territory and decides to nip it in the bud. She grabs her coat and makes a swift exit towards the door.

"Shut u-up!"

"Mhmm, I give it six months before I'm picking out bridesmaids dresses with you," Lanie beams with a sly smile.

Kate rolls her eyes dramatically and leaves with a flourish.

"I will talk to you _later_," she yells, already halfway to the elevator.

"Six months!" the chuckling doctor calls after her.

* * *

><p>The circuit from Kate's apartment to his has been long but agreeable. A light gloss of warm sweat trickles down his spine and his legs burn a little from the distance traveled; but his heart is full and his mind filled with devious plans about cornering Kate in the break room, the Crown Vic, the elevator.<p>

He definitely needs to share the elevator with her again.

Wanting to preserve the warm feeling in his belly and the happy thoughts dancing in his mind, he's foregone a cab or public transportation in favor of a long stroll. The birds seem to chirp louder on his way through a small community park and the vegetables being cultivated seem to give off a fresh green scent. He notices the happy laughs of three small children, bundled up and playing in a pile of crinkling fallen leaves and the ever present New York traffic seems a little less overbearing as his happy thoughts drown out everything but the positive the city has to offer.

He spies a bunch of yellow and orange roses being sold by a street vendor and stops to smell them.

He's laughs at himself for being so cliché and decides to buy them for Kate anyway.

Why not?

He is allowed now. Kate loves him, he loves Kate. It's six days until Christmas and his apartment should be ready for him to move them back in. His mother and daughter he assures himself.

_Them_ certainly wouldn't include a feisty detective with a penchant for bursting his bubbles.

He is a happy man. Happier than he's been in years and he is going to spend his first Christmas with the woman he loves.

His plans are abruptly halted when he pats both pockets of his jeans, checks the inside pocket of his jacket and realizes his wallet is missing. He smiles at the thought that the reason his wallet is missing is because his clothes had been discarded.

At Kate's apartment. In her bedroom.

_Never mind,_ he thinks, _I'll pick it up later. _

Because he is Kate's... boyfriend? Lover? Whatever he is, he knows he'll be back at her apartment soon and so he continues on to the loft - _Where he has a plentiful supply of cash for her mid-morning latte. No need to push his luck by neglecting that little habit of hers._ - now just two blocks away.

* * *

><p>It's back, the odd feeling in his gut, and the sweat on his neck turns cold as he turns the key in his door.<p>

A text message from Alexis distracts him with a happy chime and he shrugs it off, leaves the key in the lock and stands in the hallway to reply.

_What's up, Daddy-O?_

_Not much Daughter-O! I'm gonna swing by and take you girls to lunch if you're free?_

_Sounds good! Gram's is just getting a facial at the spa. But we'll be good by noon._

_Have you women no respect for my back account?_

_None._

_Figures. So, I'm just checking on the kitchen, it should be finished. I have to stop by the precinct for a while, too. Two hours?_

_See you then, Dad._

_Love you, Baby Bird._

_You too, Old Man. 3_

He pushes open the front door and freezes when he feels the cool steel tight against the back of his neck. The snick of the chamber loading confirms his suspicions and sends a cold shiver down his spine. A chapped hand with strong fingers digs painfully into his shoulder and turns him around, backs him roughly up against the front door. The gun is now placed firmly at his temple,the muzzle digging painfully into his skull.

"I'd like to thank you, Mr Castle."

"Tyson.." he breathes.

"Nice to see you again, Rick."

"What do you want from me?"

"Entertainment."

"Excuse me?" he chokes out.

"Last time we met, you made me realize how boring my life had become. Blondes, strangling, mommy issues. Boring. As I said, I'd like to thank you. You made me realize how much more I could do with my life."

"Um, you're welcome?"

"No, no. It's not enough just to thank you. You're going to come with me."

"I am?" he replies, palming his phone and hitting a button.

"You are. As I said last time we talked, you're drawn to death, Rick. So as a thanks, I'm gonna let you come with me and watch the master in action."

"I think I'd like to decline, if it's all the same to you."

"Not an option." he growls, his face darkening and a menacing smile appearing. "If you'd like your lovely mother and charming daughter to stay safely tucked in at the Carlyle, I'd suggest you come with me."

Rick narrows his eyes, a rumble of nausea making it's way around his gut as he realizes Tyson knows where his family is. He considers making a move, a head butt or a kick to the groin. As he's weighing his options, Tyson continues.

"No funny business, Rick. I will not hesitate to leave your body, riddled with bullets and staining this gorgeous wood floor, if you try something. Your mother and daughter's along with it, if you so much as squeak on the way out of here. Are we crystal clear on this?"

"Shiny.." Rick complies grimly.

"Good, lets be off then shall we?" The almost playful smirk is back on his face and Rick would like nothing more than to punch it to a bloody pulp. He balls his hands into tight fists and grinds his teeth to maintain composure.

He sighs in relief as the gun is removed from his temple and sucks in a deep breath as it's shoved under his jacket and up against his ribs. His phone is still in his hands and he covertly places it on the pedestal table by the door as they leave. He notices with a smug sense of satisfaction that the key is still in the lock. Two clues left for Beckett.

He hopes to hell it's enough.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Dun, dun, DUUUNN!**


	17. Chapter 17

The morning was passing in a haze of piling up paperwork and frustrating dead-ends.

Another body; found this time in Jersey, seemingly deceased before the one they had discovered last night. Another woman, red hair, expensive tastes. The BOLO she had put out while Rick was gathering himself and she was processing the crime scene, effective. Another letter to add the the ever baffling collection yet still nothing to help them find Tyson. To make matters worse Castle hasn't appeared and Kate is loathed to admit that she misses him. She's also missing his morning cup of joe. Four years of high priced, perfectly brewed, vanilla lattes has soured her on the precincts more 'robust' brew.

_Where the hell is he? _

She considers calling him but not wanting to sound overly needy, puts it off for a while longer.

He'll appear, she tells herself with a smile. He always does.

Instead she busies herself, going over reports and staring intently at the still exasperatingly sparse white board. Minutes pass into hours and she is getting nowhere.

"Five bodies. And this is all we've got," she sighs as Esposito strolls up next to her and places a fresh cup of 'monkey-pee' into her hand. What the hell are we missing?"

"Got me, Beckett. Those letters; M, A, R, M, O." he grunts and tries once again arranging them in different orders on the board. "They don't spell _anything_. Where's Castle? He's good with words, this is right up his alley."

"He said he had to go check on his place but that was hours ago..."

A niggling fear starts tapping at the back of her thought processes. She can't place it, it's just an _off_ feeling. A deep seated knowledge that he would have and should have appeared with her morning brew by now. It was passed lunchtime and she hadn't heard a word. The certainty that if he couldn't make it, he would have called or text messaged buries itself in her mind. The ridiculous man had spent a good portion of his abbreviated tour annoying her with one worded texts. And this was before they had spent the night together. Before they had finally declared their feelings.

_He would call.. wouldn't he? The man can't go five minutes without checking that blasted thing!_

She shrugs off the unhappy thoughts and chides herself for being ridiculous.

And then she places a call to him anyway. If for nothing else than to hear his voice and maybe give him a little grief over her lack of caffeine.

The line rings six times before going to voice-mail.

"He's not answering," she states quietly to Esposito.

"Who's not?" happily asks Ryan, sidling up alongside his partner.

"Castle." Esposito answers for Kate.

"Did you guys have your first fight? So soon?" Ryan asks, the grin swiftly falling from his face as he notes the distressed look on hers.

"I'm sure it's nothing." Kate says quietly, looking intently at her phone, as though it holds all the answers in the world.

She is startled when it rings to life. A familiar, yet uncommon number appearing on the caller id.

"Alexis?"

"Detective Beckett..Kate..Hi. Um, this might sound a little strange but is my Dad with you?"

Panic starts to seep into her mind and she grips the coffee mug a little tighter while she responds.

"No Alexis, he's not. He said he was going to check on the loft, I was actually wondering myself where he had gotten to."

Kate congratulates herself for the calm, steady tone of her voice.

"I've called him four times," the girls voice is steadily rising, picking up tempo as she continues.

"That's the last thing I heard from him too. He said he was checking on the kitchen, coming to see you and then taking Grams and I to lunch. But that was four hours ago. You don't think anything has happened to him do you? It's not like him to miss my calls." Kate hears as the teen takes in a large gulp of air. "I thought he would be with you.."

"Hey.. Alexis, it's going to be okay." Kate says firmly. "Where are you?"

"We're at the hotel still," she replies, her voice returning to a slightly less panicked tone.

"Okay, I want you to meet me at the loft. Keep calling him."

"We'll figure it out and when we find him we will hurt him," she adds hoping to ease some of the girl's tension.

"Yeah, we will," Alexis chuckles lightly and Kate quickly begins gathering her purse and coat.

"I'll meet you there in twenty?"

"Kate..thanks. I'll see you." Alexis disconnects and Beckett levels the boys with an icy stare.

"Cover for me!" she hisses, nodding her head in the direction of the captain's office.

"You got it, boss." Ryan salutes.

"I don't know nutting," Esposito deadpans with a wink as she squeezes his arm in thanks and rushes to the elevator.

* * *

><p>She arrives at the building at the same time as the two red-heads. They make swift greetings and quickly head towards the elevator. Kate taps her foot impatiently as the conveyor slowly rises, the young woman's eyes flit from her grandmother to Kate with nervous energy as the doors part.<p>

"Come on," Kate urges as she exits the elevator.

She pulls to an abrupt halt as she reaches the front door. A key sits abandoned in the lock and dread plants itself heavily in her gut. Richard Castle would not leave his apartment vulnerable like that. He may be impulsive and fanciful in his own dealings but he is as protective and careful with his family as a mother lion is to her cubs.

"Kate.." Alexis breathes out, pulling up alongside the detective and noticing the key.

Martha places a hand on her shoulder and shoots Kate a worried glance. She too knows her son's fierce need for privacy, his zeal for keeping them safe.

Kate waves for them to stay back, draws her gun and slowly opens the apartment.

"Hello?" she calls, eyes swiftly sweeping the apartment for signs of a struggle. "Castle!" she calls, clearing rooms, one by one and coming up empty.

"It's clear!" she calls, pacing back towards the entrance. She scans the apartment and still notices nothing amiss. Just a sinking feeling and cold, sweaty palms to let her know he's in trouble.

The two women stand beside her, nobody knowing quite what to do next. Kate angrily brushes a stray curl of hair from her brow and lets out a long sigh of frustration. Alexis taps a foot and chews nervously on her nails. Martha watches them both closely and notes the way the detective is absently fingering at her chest, notes her usually pale complexion is now almost a translucent shade of green. A thought suddenly plants itself firmly in her mind and she knows with a certainty that her son and this woman have finally crossed a threshold.

"Come, darlings," says Martha, sensing the need to regain her composure first, ushering them towards the kitchen. "I'll make us some tea and we can figure out where he's gotten to," she adds with a false ring of calm.

They sit side by side at the kitchen counter, sipping on lemon tea and quietly musing to themselves. Alexis is still gnawing aggressively at her thumb nail, her eyes watery and far away. Martha rises and busies herself putting away items left out from the renovation. Kate notes that the kitchen is completed, it looks good. Warm copper colored tiles in various shades, adorn the wall behind the sink, a slightly darker shade of paint accents the tile back-splash and gives the kitchen a warm, lived in feeling.

_Paint!_

The fumes from the fresh paint stick in the back of her throat. A mix between exhaust fumes and spring flowers, the useless attempt to cover up toxic chemicals with more. She feels nauseous as the realization hits her.

_Paint thinner!_

"Tyson was here!" she yells. Alexis jumps in her stool, broken from her spell, fear and confusion flashing across her face. Martha hurries back over to the island counter and grips Kate by the forearm.

"What do you mean?" Martha replies, anxiety deepening the lines on her face.

"The paint!" Kate almost yells, "We found thinner on one of the victims, she looked like..oh God. Tyson was here!"

"The Triple Killer?" Alexis asks. Question and worry etching her smooth brow as the pieces fall into place. "Is _that_ why Dad was so happy to keep us staying at the hotel?"

"Yeah," Kate quietly responds, realizing her partner had kept his family in the dark. "Jerry Tyson is back, he's been..he's been targeting women who," she glances to Martha, "look like us.."

"Martha, how did you find the contractor for the kitchen?"

"Actually, he found me."

"How?"

"I was at the Boathouse, having lunch with a friend. This was the morning Richard was flying to London. I was telling her about the fire incident when the waiter overheard and mentioned that he was a licensed contractor." Martha licked her lips nervously and went on, "Oh God, what have I done? He seemed legitimate. He had a business card, he even ran out to his van and came back with a brochure. He said he was just waiting tables because of the economy being the way that it is. Not much of a market for home renovations, you know? Oh God, what have I done?"

She places a hand on the trembling woman's shoulder and give it a light squeeze. "Martha, we're going to find him," she assures the older woman.

"How?" Alexis cries, her pitch rising and an expectant glare aimed at Kate.

Kate flinches at the accusatory stare, a look she'd received before when Rick was stuck, held hostage in a bank. She takes it as what it is though, panic and worry directed at the closest natural target. She just hopes she will get the chance to once again receive the grateful and almost knowing gaze she'd received from his daughter after that ordeal.

"We will," she repeats. For the girl, for herself. "Where is the brochure?"

Martha wipes a tear from her cheek and explains with a sob, "I threw it out..."

Kate hands her the handkerchief from her pocket, the one reserved for grieving families. She feels like she is in some surreal dreamland. She has barely had to use hers for near on four years, Rick has always been first to pull out his own. His level of compassion never failing to surprise her.

"The card..?" Kate asks softly.

"I left it right.." Martha swipes her hand across the counter and points to a vacant section of granite. "..here."

"What do you remember?" Kate continues, "Anything you can remember might be a help."

Martha proceeds to fill her in on all the details she can elicit. The description fits Tyson to a 'T' and by the time his mother is finished, Kate has no doubts that 3XK is holding Castle. She has a color and model of the van he was driving, a name for his business.

Finally, solid leads.

She quickly downs the last of her tea and embraces the women in a fierce hug. Martha whispers how sorry she is in her ear and in that instant, from that tone, Kate knows that his mother..._knows. _

Kate furtively brushes away a tear that has somehow made it's way to her chin. Alexis eyes her thoughtfully, watches as the normally steely woman's chest heaves heavily up and down. She cocks her head to the side, decided and once more wraps herself around the detective. She quietly hands her back the handkerchief that Martha had left on the counter and squeezes her arm as she steps back towards her grandmother.

"I will find him," Kate says with more confidence than perhaps she has in her, more than she should probably give.

"I have to."

"I know you will," his mother replies staunchly and Kate desperately hopes that she is right.

"Keep calling him," she directs as she shrugs on her coat and prepares to leave.

Alexis dials dutifully and the shrill tone of "Dad, dad, dad!" fills the loft.

Frustration fills Kate's head as she realizes his phone is sitting by the door. Placed carefully and in full view, on a small circular table; like he wants it to be seen. That phone never leaves his side.

_Why would he leave it here? He knows I could track it! Idiot!_

She thinks that she might like to beat him within an inch of his life for being so stupid once she finally finds him and brings him home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, the phone leaving was intentional. No, Castle is not a moron. Chapter 18 will explain. Quit messaging me about it. ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

"Okay now, Rick. When we get out of this elevator we are going to walk calmly by Sam, a lovely man I might add, he let me double park right in front; and then you are going to get into my van. If you do not, I will start shooting and many innocent lives will be on your head. You got it?"

"Sure," Rick replied grumpily, "No funny business, got it."

"Now hand over your phone, I don't want any distractions like last time."

"I don't have it..I.. lost it this morning," Rick hedges, hoping like hell that he'll buy it.

Ricks thanks the heavens his instincts to drop the phone were correct.

Martha's phone call had saved him last time, he didn't think Tyson would be stupid enough to let him carry one again. Not when this ambush was planned. He crosses his fingers, his toes within his shoes and prays those two oddities are enough to alert his family that something is wrong. He hopes they will notice he had hit the voice recorder app, will know he is with Tyson. He wishes he could have made a call but with the text messaging still open, he hadn't thought he had time to try and work out a blind call. The small button on the side, the one he'd setup as a shortcut to recording for when he had a story idea – or for when Kate was laughing and didn't know he was listening - seemed like a good idea.

_At least_, he had thought grimly, _when they find my body they will have evidence against Tyson._

Tyson looks him up and down as though he doesn't want to believe him, pats him down roughly and nods to himself when he confirms Rick's empty pockets.

"No wallet either?"

A sly grin comes over the deranged man's face. "Why Richard Castle, I do believe you shacked up with that sexy detective of yours last night. Disheveled hair, lack of personal effects, the stupid grin you were wearing as you walked in your front door."

The lunatic chuckles and the writer grinds his teeth.

"We're you making the walk of shame?"

Rick says nothing and scowls as the elevator arrives on the ground floor.

"Wonderful. It will make it so much more fun for us when I kill her. Now put a smile on your face and say hello to Sam. Easy now. You don't want me making a mess on the sidewalk."

Richard complies, tells Sam "Happy Hanukkah" as he passes through the lobby doors and slides into the passenger seat.

A swift thunk to the back of his head, a bright flash of colors and a ringing in his ears and all is black.

* * *

><p><em>A slight breeze caresses his face, providing a nice relief from the slowly setting, summer sun. Breakers crash over nearby rocks and seagulls squawk happily overhead. It is a stark contrast to the previous two occasions and he can't be happier. <em>

_Warm, smooth sand glides between his naked toes and the cuffs of his suit pants are damp and cool against his ankles. He curls his toes into the sand as he catches his first sight of her. Canon in D is playing softly on an acoustical guitar and loose tendrils of hair blow haphazardly around her bright, blushing face. His breath catches and he feels tears prick the corners of his eyes and a lump form in his throat. _

_He takes a deep breath of fresh, seaside air as she approaches him, his lungs expand smoothly and he is filled with a feeling of utter serenity._

_Her dress is simple, elegant. A trumpet skirt made of beaded, ivory lace. Strapless with a sash of lilac satin at the waist, to highlight her figure. It flairs minimally at her ankles, a barely-there train, leaving light trails in the sand; joining his footprints to hers. _

_He can't decide if he wants to rip the dress off her, ravish her, right here and now; or beg her never to undress, for never has she looked so lovely. _

_She is a vision he once never dared dream of._

"_Always" she whispers as she takes her place at his side; he nods, not quite able to form words._

* * *

><p>A loud clap and an icy wet chill pull him abruptly from his dream. It's shocking, the cold water forces him to take a sharp intake of breath, he splutters and closes his eyes to the pounding in his head. More shocking is the realization that he is not marrying Kate on a beautiful beach at sunset. His heart aches with the loss and the lump returns to his throat.<p>

"Wakey, wakey, Rick."

A fist to the jaw, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He swallows heavily, opens his eyes and glances around his surroundings.

Toolboxes are stacked neatly along the walls and well used tools are hung on hooks above them. A large table saw and various other tools of the trade surround him. The air smells like sawdust and gasoline, not entirely unpleasant. A project, midway through, lays atop a nearby work bench. Inlaid wood with an intricately carved dolphin rising from a wave.

Rick somehow doesn't find it so hard to believe that this man is capable of such beautiful work. He certainly has a flair for the details in his murderous plans, it stands to reason it permeates his professional career as well.

His hands are tightly bound behind his back, his feet tied at the ankle. Escape not seeming likely, Rick falls back on his most trusted tactic. Stalling and tale-telling.

"You have a gift," Rick rasps, nodding towards the work. "Tell me, why the change of career? You could have been famous with this kind of work. Really, it's beautiful. Killing almost seems...beneath you."

"Ha!" Tyson snorts. "Thank you, it pays the bills. But women, and the look they get in their eyes when they realize they are about to die..ah, now that is a thing of beauty."

Rick raises an eyebrow for him to continue.

"Fear, Rick. Joy. So closely related. The rush of adrenaline, the apprehension of something to come. There is a moment Rick, right before the lights go out, when acceptance shines so brightly on their faces." The man smiles fondly at the vision in his mind and Rick swallows the bile rising in his throat.

"Their focus changes, from my face and their fear; to whatever it is that comes next. Their vision clears, a small smile sometimes graces their beautiful faces. I can only describe it as awe and...joy. To have the power..to give that to them..it truly is a gift to be able to deliver it, to witness it."

"It doesn't bother you that you are taking away their lives? That you are devastating families?"

"Family is over-rated."

"Ah right, Mommy issues."

The slap comes fast and painful. The crack reverberates in his ears, his still throbbing head and his cheek stings like a thousand tiny needles are prodding at his jawline.

"Careful, Rick. I'm keeping you around so I can share with you. Give you a true insight into the carnage that you so love to write. But don't incite me, I can always push up my plans."

He licks his lips and snarls, "Move on to the originals sooner than planned. If you know what I mean..?"

He winks and Rick gulps heavily, wills the vomit back down. Swallows it in his throat so that it won't be purged onto the floor, his lap.

"Noted," he croaks out.

Tyson pulls out a camera and takes a picture of him.

"Just a memento for the scrapbook," he smiles, all anger gone and calm returning to his features.

"The scrapbook?"

"Oh yes, I'll show you," Tyson replies, moving to a drawer and pulling out a large binder.

Inside are pictures of women, differing ages, most of them blonde. Close ups of their faces, their terrified eyes pleading to the camera lens. All of them are near death. Most of them strangled, their faces blueish and strained; but a few with tell tale smudges of blood creeping into the frame speak of differing methods the man has tried.

The pictures are horrifying and Rick has to look away.

He'd always pictured Jerry Tyson being quick about his murders. Stealthy and fast. In and out, a murder to feed the addiction, to satisfy the need of a quick fix. Like an addict with a drug. But the picture presented to him is of a man who takes his time, drags out the suffering of the poor people who have the misfortune to meet him in a lonely stretch of road, or an abandoned 'til daylight park.

The profile is completely wrong, he realizes and groans inwardly at the notion that his chances of being found are slimming with each passing hour.

Someone who can take this much time with a victim and still not leave a trace is no amateur and will not be caught easily.

He prays to a God he isn't even sure exists for a miracle.


	19. Chapter 19

In the bullpen, fifty minutes later; Kate is seething.

Fear and uncertainty grip at her heart. Leads are going nowhere, as always with this godforsaken case. She is snapping at the boys, pacing back and forth between her desk and the white board; trying unsuccessfully to immerse herself in her work.

"Ryan!" she barks, "How did CSU go at the loft? Any prints?"

"Sorry Boss, clean. But I think we've got something here," the detective replies cautiously, hearing the edge in her voice, hanging up the phone.

"That was the doorman, Sam," he says, gesturing to the telephone.

"He said Castle was acting odd. He was leaving with a man, fitting the description of Tyson; he said Castle wished him "Happy Hanukkah." "

"That's odd _why_?"

"He said he's Catholic. Celebrates Christmas, midnight mass and all. He said Castle knows this, even attended with him once when he was researching a case."

"Is this going anywhere?" Kate growls, feeling impatience clawing at her mind, wanting to hit something.

"It roused his suspicions so he tried to get the license plate number. He only got a partial, he said it had some kind of film on it. One of those used to deflect red-light cameras..."

"God, Ryan!" she yells now, control fast slipping from her grasp. "Do we have_ anything_?"

Esposito steps in, tries to quell the growing storm, "Hey...we'll find him. Okay?"

She blows out a breath, two, grips her desk like a life-preserver in a churning sea and slowly regains her equilibrium.

"I'm sorry," she whispers in the direction of Ryan. Truly contrite, slightly embarrassed by her outburst.

"Please. Continue."

"Yeah."

Ryan lets out the breath he's been holding, his boss is usually the 'rock' of the team; this new, flustered Kate unnerves him.

"Partial plate, 'VCB-1'. 'Fraid that's all, but I'm running it. Along with make and model he provided, we've got a shot."

Ryan taps impatiently on the desk as the aged computer slowly sifts through license plates, his heart falling into his stomach as the list grow ever larger. It isn't uncommon for partials to pull long lists, he just wishes for once they'd get lucky. While Kate is obviously upset over Castle's disappearance, she isn't the only one hurting. Castle has become a part of the team and they are all feeling his absence. He gestures to his partner with a look and a lilt of his head.

Esposito glances at the now complete list and his eyes widen. Sixty-seven matches for "'White', 'Ford - Econolines'" with that particular partial. It will take them days to check them all out. Castle may not have days.

He eyes the timid, pleading face of his partner and sighs as he accepts the task silently.

"Beckett..."

"What have you got?"

"..it's not good. Sixty-seven matches." he backs up slightly, semi-conscious of the way Kate's eyes narrow, the sharp grinding of her jaw.

This won't be pretty, he can feel it coming.

"Sixty-seven fucking matches?" she roars, shaking her desk roughly as she stands and moves to the board. She hits it, hard, and markers go flying,

"Sixty-_fucking_-seven?"

"Beckett!" Ryan harshly whispers, spying Gates heading their way. His flits his eyes back and forth, tries to gain her attention.

But she is too far gone. Time is standing still and speeding up all at once. The seconds losing meaning, she is shutting down and going to a place she'd thought long forgotten. The deep, pit of despair and hopelessness that had once consumed her. Instead of sadness and depression like last time though, all she feels now is anger.

At Tyson. At her completely undeserving team. At the universe for being so cruel as to give her a taste of happiness and then rip it all away the minute she succumbed.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with sixty-seven damn matches?" she yells in a high pitched cry, spinning around and slamming directly into the Captain's cool gaze.

"Beckett! My office. Now." she says over the rim of her glasses, strolling calmly back towards her post.

Kate feels the air deflate out of her lungs, dread settling in her guts. She knows exactly what is coming and she has no defense.

"Sir.." she greets, closing the door behind herself and standing at the neatly organized desk. Her pulse is pounding in her temple and her hands are sweaty.

"Detective Beckett...Kate, sit." the Captain begins, in a more comforting voice than Kate knew the older woman had in her.

She does as directed and fixes her eyes firmly at mid-distance, not wanting to focus on the woman's face, not wanting to let her read what must surely be written all over hers.

"Kate, listen..I know you're under a lot of pressure. I know you are frustrated; but you can't continue like this...I'm going to have to ask you.."

The Captain shuffles some papers and runs a finger over a frame Kate has never noticed before. She tries to spend as little time as possible in this room; it still smells like Montgomery. Old paper, tarnished brass and a lingering tang of cheap whiskey. There is a new aroma mixing in with it now. Expensive perfume and she thinks, a hint green tea; but it's there, the familiar scent and it never fails to send a pang of guilt and sadness to her heart.

Kate lets her gaze wander as she notices the Captain's distraction, she detects a hint of sadness on the woman's face. She begins to wonder what the back-story here is. Her anger subsides and her curiosity is peaked. Having been so caught up in the pain of last summer, the horror and sadness of it all, she may not have being paying enough attention to her mentor's replacement.

She realizes with a start that there is probably a reason their career paths are so similar. Women in the N.Y.P.D. don't just happen to become a detective at an early age, they certainly don't become Captain by chance. There is a still a firm network of 'old boys' who would like nothing more than to keep their club exclusive. Something has driven this woman to be where she now sits, at the Captain's chair in one of New York's finest precincts.

Kate feels a touch of her distrust melt away as Gates continues in that same soft, unfamiliar tone.

"Go home detective, the finest are on this case." She raises her hand to stop the protests before they are out of Kate's mouth and goes on.

"I know you want to be here, I know you feel helpless right now.." she chews on a pencil as though deciding whether to divulge anymore insight.

With a quirk of her bow she continues, "I know there is.._something_..going on between yourself and Mr. Castle and you're too close to this case Detective. I need you to go home. I think we both know you are not capable of running this case objectively, I also think we both know that Ryan and Esposito will be more effective if they aren't running interference between both yourself and I; and whoever else may get in your way."

She places her hands neatly together on the desk, clasped tightly, an expectant stare fixed on Kate. "Would you say that's accurate, Detective?"

Kate grudgingly admits to herself that Gates may have a point. She's not getting anywhere, she's snapping at her friends and distracting them from their jobs.

"Yes, Sir.." she sighs as she feels a lump forming in her throat, feeling her whole body deflate and her mind going numb. "It might be best."

* * *

><p>She drives home on auto-pilot. Her mind racing and seemingly not able to focus on anything for more than a second.<p>

She had meant to stop at Rick's loft and offer some kind of comfort to his family but all she can think about is what may be happening to him; what could have been happening between them now.

_Is he being hurt? Would we have been sitting at his dinner table, shy and apprehensive, while his family grills us?_

She thinks it might be best if she avoids them for the present. There's no need for them to witness her erratic mood swings. The last thing she wants is to assault them with a barrage of bad language or worse; tears.

She arrives at her apartment surprisingly unscathed, no recollection of the commute and performs her usual activities by rote. Her coat is shrugged off at the door, her shoes by the sofa. She pours a glass of wine but spits is out when the taste reminds her of last night. She makes a sandwich but the bread sticks in her throat and makes her gag. She throws it in the trash alongside the half-empty bottle of wine.

The apartment she had spent so much time decorating and accessorizing, lovingly perfecting until it felt like home, now simply feels like a jail cell. Her breaths are shallow and unsteady, with nothing to distract her she is left alone to ponder Rick's fate. She paces and curses herself for not driving him home.

She tries taking a shower, scalding hot; attempting to let the steam sooth the burn in her lungs. She takes deep breaths like she learned in therapy and chokes on a sob. The shower leaves her cleaner but not any more calm.

Wiping away tears and throwing on her bathrobe she makes her way to the bed. Their bed now.

She spies his shirt, laying discarded where he left it on the floor this morning and grasps it as she collapses to her bed. His scent lingers heavily on the cool, cotton fabric. For the first time all day, she feels a sense of calm come about her as the rich, musky smell of his aftershave and the faint aroma of _him_ permeates her psyche.

She breaths deep and slowly her eyes drift shut; sleep finally overcomes her frazzled mind.

* * *

><p><em>She's breathless, panicked and confused. The setting is familiar but she can't find her way out, she's lost in a eight by six foot box. <em>

_She hits the button she knows will take her to the correct floor but as the doors open there is nothing but darkness. She slams her finger on the close door button, mashes it repeatedly and tries again with a new floor. _

_Again the blackness greets her and her heart sinks. She stands in the still compartment, alone and afraid. She does the only thing she can think to do. _

_She calls his name and the elevator abruptly falls. _

_Instead of being afraid though, she feels free. She's floating weightless in the air._

_She sees him standing on a secluded beach, barefoot and decked in a dark suit. She sees herself, approaching him in an ivory gown. Her father walks her halfway and places a soft kiss to her cheek as she lets him go and makes her way unaccompanied to Rick. He licks his lips nervously, and runs his hand through wind-swept hair. Her other, sand-bound self smiles at him and he visibly relaxes. _

_She feels powerful, capable, joyful. She knows this is right. _

_A loud ringing and the elevator swiftly drops again. _

_This time she is in a free fall. Her heart beats wildly and her stomach feels ill. She tries calling him again, screams his name and claws at the walls of the conveyor. _

_Tyson appears before her, laughing madly and waving a rope. _

_The ringing again and all goes black before morphing into a brilliant kaleidoscopic of colors._

* * *

><p>"Rick!," she cries out, flailing and struggling with the sheets tangled in her legs.<p>

Early morning sun beats onto her face, dragging her at a hasty pace back to reality. She covers her eyes and rakes her hands through her tangled and sweat drenched hair.

As she finally rises, the ringing stops and her phone goes to voice-mail as she trips over Rick's wallet.

Cursing, she reaches for her phone while idly stoking the soft leather of his lost billfold. Detective Esposito has left her a message.

"_Beckett, it's me. There's been another body. Another 'Martha'. And another letter, T. Don't come in, Gates will have you head. I..I just thought you needed to know." _

_A long pause and then, "Girl...we're gonna find him. We got this, okay?"_

A tear slips from her cheek and lands with a splash onto the wallet. She brushes it off with her thumb and tentatively opens the billfold.

Inside are multiple photos. Most are of Alexis at various ages and stages. A veritable brag-book if ever there was one. She lingers on the photos where he is pictured, touches lightly at his immortalized features and recommits them to memory.

She comes across a picture of herself and a small gasp escapes her lips.

The photo is old and well fingered; creases and lines mark the paper. But what surprises her more is just _how old_ it really is. Judging by her hairstyle it's from the first year they worked together. She is sitting at her desk, absently staring into space with a finger curled around a short strand of hair. She has to admit it is a lovely shot, with afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, catching her face in half light, half shadow; it had a dream like quality to it and her heart catches to realize just how long he has been waiting on her.

As she moves to replace the photos into their proper place, a business card falls to the floor and she doesn't quite believe her eyes.

"No!" she yells to the empty space.

"It can't be that easy," she breathes.


	20. Chapter 20

Adrenaline and hope surges through her veins as she quickly gathers clothes and dials Esposito.

"Yo," he answers, his characteristic greeting.

"Marmot!" she cries into the line.

"Beckett? What's going on? We've already searched Marmot, it's the only word those letters can possibly spell. All that came up was a small town in Oregon, a few residential streets in various locations around the country and a large, rather adorable ground squirrel. Nothing very solid, boss. And nothing in New York. We need to wait for...more.." he sighs dejectedly.

"3465 Marmot Circle, Canterbury, Connecticut! Write it down" She waits a beat while he scribbles down the address and then continues in a more controlled voice.

"I found a business card in Rick's wallet, Tyson's card, it has to be. That address has got to be where he's holding Castle! Get there. Now!"

"On it boss," he replies.

"Ryan! Captain Gates!" she hears called in the background as the line goes dead.

* * *

><p>He's been sitting in the damn chair for three days now. His wrists and ankles are bloody and mangled. His ass is numb and his feet tingle from lack of proper blood flow. His head still pounds from the blows he has received and his mouth tastes as bad as he imagines it smells. A combination of stale coffee, lack of tooth brushing and blood. His throat is dry, Tyson only allowing him a sip of water now and then. His eyes sting and burn from too many hours being forced to remain open. He only allows himself small increments of sleep. Less because of fear and more because he doesn't think he can bear to dream of Kate again only to wake up in the cold and dirty garage.<p>

Tyson has mostly left him alone. Disappearing for hours to a secluded corner of the room where Rick's observance of him is obscured, leaving him in the dark to ponder his options and work doggedly at the ropes.

Save for the first night, when after a long absence, he had almost gleefully brought Rick a new photo to look upon, Tyson has withdrawn almost completely.

* * *

><p>"Look at that!" he had exclaimed happily. "I'm getting closer, look at her eyes! I'm so glad I stumbled into you mother when I did, so I could share this with you. She was <em>right<em> there Rick! Right as I took it. Look how beautiful she is."

Rick had to admit, after gulping past the eerily accurate recreation of his mother and the nausea it brought with it, that there was something there. His latest victim had an almost serene glaze painted across her features. As though at some point she had let her fear go and surrendered to whatever God or afterlife it was she believed in. She looked as though she was accepting the inevitable and succumbing to death. Welcoming it probably, he had thought grimly.

It had sickened him and he had felt a shiver of terror run down his spine.

Three _Kate_s.. three _Martha_s.. it didn't take a genius to figure out who was next and he didn't think he could bear being witness to the next portraits sure to grace Tyson's portfolio of horror.

"I don't see anything. You should stick with carpentry."

He had refused to give anything to this madman. One moment of beauty amongst a backdrop of pain and fear was nothing to be proud about. Nothing to strive for.

"Bullshit!" he had spat, before untying Ricks ankles and wrists for his once daily trip to the bathroom.

Even with a bursting bladder, Rick had found it amazingly difficult to urinate while a gun was lodged securely at his temple. He was however very grateful for this one concession Tyson allowed. The last thing he wanted was for his cold, lifeless body to be found in a puddle of stale urine. It also provided opportunity. And so once per day, as he relieved himself and Tyson looked away, he took an extra second to make sure his watch was turned inwards. He'd then spend the remainder of his day, struggling against the rope with his wrists, grimacing while blood oozed from the open wounds and the sharp metal edge of the clasp worked slowly at the twine; thankful the dark red stains covered up and matted down the frays beginning to form.

* * *

><p>Tyson has been otherwise occupied for the last two days and apart from a grunt to get up for the bathroom break, he has all but ignored him. Rick feels like a child's Christmas present; highly coveted and eagerly awaited, just days later losing all it's luster and shine once unwrapped and played with for a short while.<p>

Rick is however, for the first time in what feels to him like months in the darkened garage, regaining a sense of hope. He's picturing a future free of at least one murdering psychotic and full instead of Christmas cheer and happily ever afters.

It's early afternoon, Christmas Eve and for the last two days, from the high and small windows above the tool cabinets, Rick has seen the comforting glow of red and blue. Heard a near constant buzz of helicopter blades. The phone rings at regular intervals and he hears Tyson snarl terse replies from where he is holed up in a dark corner of the garage.

Tyson had yelled about killing Rick when they had arrived, demanded to be allowed to walk and a stand-off has since ensued. He's told them he has explosives. Rick knows it's a lie, but they are unaware and apparently not willing to risk storming the place.

It's a stalemate with Rick as an unwilling pawn.

Tyson had looked to Rick with a face full of surprise when they had first arrived and commented that he didn't think the NYPD had it in them to put together his small clues. Rick had rolled his eyes and replied that his ego was far greater than even his own.

Privately he had praised whatever deity it was that had bestowed this lunatic with such a sense of self-worth; it was the one thing Tyson hadn't meticulously planned for.

He's decided he's had enough of this game, never really being one to like games of logic. He's going to push his luck and go for checkmate.

He has no illusions of getting out of this situation unscathed but she is out there. He knows it, can feel it with every fiber of his being. A warm blanket of hope and expectation has enveloped him, he refuses to let fear shrug it off. He works with a renewed sense of vigor to free himself of the rope. He bites his teeth down hard as the rope burns through his skin, wills the pain away and releases a victory smile when some more of the twine snaps and the bindings loosen a little. His thumb works free and Rick quietly proceeds remove the rope.

_I'm coming, Angel._

* * *

><p>She sits in the Crown Vic alone, her face is pale and her eyes rimmed with red.<p>

She has been delegated to behind the yellow tape. It's not her jurisdiction or even her specialty she's been told. She's a New York homicide detective interloping on a Connecticut, HRT team's turf. She has demanded and cajoled, begged and pleaded for reason.

She has firmly been denied and sent to wait with the vultures from the press and the curious onlookers with their cellphone cameras and their high-priced coffees.

She briefly allows a smile as she remembers their first, and last, morning together.

* * *

><p>"Kaaaaa-te" he had whined at the door. "How can I get dressed and bring you Vanilla Latte goodness if you won't even let me take a shower."<p>

"Nuh-uh, Castle," she had called. "I let you in here and all of a sudden I'm an hour late and Gates is riding my ass for the next week."

"Please, Pookie..." She had heard the smirk and decided not to reply.

"...such a great ass it is, too."

She had chosen to ignore that as well, now knowing of his love for long and in-depth discussions on the attributes of her behind. He had spent a good five minutes that very morning, kneading her cheeks and voicing over the top prose on the very subject. She wasn't opposed to a second rendition, just...not right then. Not when she was already needing an elongated and cooler than normal shower before she could drag herself to work.

"Really? Again with the nicknames?" she had called as she turned on the shower.

"Babe, come on. For meee!" he had pitifully cried.

She hadn't felt the need to answer that either.

"Angel?"

_Ugh!_ She had thought. _Why does that one have to affect me so much?_

She had opened the door a crack, kissed him softly on the lips and sent him packing. He had grudgingly agreed and left with a pout.

* * *

><p>She is kicking herself now.<p>

Wishing she had dragged him into the stall with her and been a good three hours late to work. Wishing she had taken the whole damn day off.

His family has provided her with no small measure of comfort. Always generous with affection, even before this whole ordeal, they are even more so now that Rick has been located and there is an end in sight. She also suspects they both know somehow that she and Rick have finally joined.

His daughter keeps eying her like she suspects she's about to break and his mother is more liberal than usual with the terms "Darling" and "Kate, dear". She has not heard one "Detective Beckett" and she surprisingly finds it quite comforting.

They had driven up with her, easing her nerves and calming the fear with stupid jokes and tales of Rick's previous antics. They had planned Christmas dinner, herself included, refusing to even carry the notion that Rick would be harmed. They had insisted on listening to carols on the radio and persisted she sing along when "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" played. She had snorted at them but complied. While their tender comfort may have been laced with a heavy dose of denial on their parts, she will be eternally grateful for it. She had sung as loud and obnoxiously as she suspected Rick would have and heartily lead the chorus as "You're a Mean One, Mister Grinch" had begun.

The three and a half hour drive had flown by and since then they had stoically waited for news together.

Now, as they have briefly left her alone, to grab an early dinner at a nearby eatery, she misses their presence. She wishes she hadn't waved them off, the very idea of eating turning her stomach. She realizes that the overabundance of hugs and comforting touches that once would have left her feeling vulnerable and leery now just leave her feeling loved and a part of a family. His family. Her family.

_I have a real, live, family now._

She shakes her head at the sheer absurdity of it.

While she loves her Dad, she hasn't really felt a part of an actual family since her mother had died. They had foregone traditions and holiday gatherings in favor of stoic greetings and awkward dinners in Chinese restaurants, studiously avoiding all things jolly. They see each other often enough and when there isn't a holiday to be side-stepping around, they always have a good time, fun and generally lighthearted; but there are just so many topics to be carefully avoided. Johanna and his drinking and subsequent nosedive. Her career choices and his worry about them. Her recent shooting and near death. They _are_ a family, but dysfunctional at best. There's a whole heard of giant, white elephants stomping around and preventing them from ever regaining the father-daughter relationship they once had, so many years ago.

Only in her strange and wonderful journey with Richard Castle would it take a kidnapping and hostage situation for her to come to grips with the possibility of a normal family life.

A gunshot, a flurry of activity and shouting breaks her out of her musings.

She is running, feels her chest heave and her feet slam into the pavement. A beat cop, tries to block her path and she vaguely feels the reverberation against the heel of her palm as she slams her ways past him and towards the garage.

"Castle!" she screams as she rounds a corner and is flanked by two burly cops in full SWAT gear. They grab her by both arms and prevent her from advancing any further. She can see though the now opened door into the blackness within. She sees the glare of flashlights crossing paths, smells the distinct aroma of gunfire, she hears orders being barked and her own ragged breathing.

"Rick!" she cries out, hoping he can hear her.

Hoping he's alive to hear her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Here I go leaving you guys on a cliffhanger again. Add me to your favorites, send me your reviews. Your ego stroking can only make me write faster. :D**


	21. Chapter 21

Rick scans the workshop, looking for a weapon. Something, anything to give himself an edge when he makes his move. His heart is in his throat, his palms sweaty. He gulps, loudly, freezes for a second sure that Tyson will have heard. But there is no movement from the alcove where Tyson is holed up and as Rick's heart rate returns to a more normal - if elevated- rate, he grits his teeth and continues his covert mission for a weapon.

He curses Tyson and his apparent need for order. The counters are clear, all the tools neatly put back where they belong. Not willing to risk a creak or squeak from the opening of drawers, or to expose himself by reaching up into the cabinets, Rick decides on the one thing that's handy.

The damn chair he's been sitting on for the last three days. He's sure his ass is permanently branded from where the wood has been digging painfully into his rear. It gives him a kind of perverse pleasure to anticipate smashing it over Tyson's head.

He's flexes his now free feet and ankles, makes tight fists with his hand and releases them. Quietly he waits with his breath caught in his throat as circulation begins to return. He doesn't want to rush this. It will be his one chance at escape. He has no doubts that if this attempt goes south, Tyson will not hesitate to kill him. The man doesn't have much to lose at this point, Rick's somewhat amazed that he hasn't been killed already just so Tyson could get it over with.

Softly, he rises. Picks the chair up deftly and stalks towards the corner.

Tyson is slouched over a desk, fingering at a page in his 'brag-book'. It is opened to a particularly gruesome photo. It's all the inspiration Rick needs to slam the chair across the back of his head. Gripping the chair tightly and ignoring the pain shooting through his wrists Rick shuffles to within range, heaves the chair over his head and slam it across the back of Tyson's neck.

He hears a loud bang and is momentarily confused. The sound echos in the garage and his ears ring. Tyson is howling, a sound somewhere between human and animal. The chair is in pieces, splintering as it crashed onto Tyson's neck, it's now a satisfying pile of rubble on the floor.

Tyson stumbles up from his chair, then falls dazed to the floor. He detects a faint whiff of gunpowder and the pieces begin to fall into place.

_Shit! He was holding the gun! Where's the fucking gun?_

Tyson is scrambling around on the ground, one hand held to his leg, the other wildly slapping the concrete floor.

_Gun, Gun, Gun. Find the gun!_

They both spy it at the same time, both lunge to reach it first. But Rick is faster, uninjured and for a moment, as he finds purchase on the weapon, cocks it and places it to Tyson's head, he considers pulling the trigger and ending this nightmare once and for all. A flash of fear passes Tyson's eyes and Rick loses his nerve. He is not a cold blooded killer, not like Tyson, he doesn't want this man to have any more hold over him.

Instead he rears his other arm back and slams his fist into Tyson's face. Repeatedly.

With one final punch to the gut, as Tyson's eyes slip closed, Rick falls back onto his heels and leans heavily against the desk. He slides down the old, wooden structure until he is almost laying on the cold, concrete floor, panting and shaking with the release of so much adrenaline. Three days of fear and frustration have been released and with Tyson now unconscious beside him, all he wants to do is close his eyes for a minute and breathe.

He hears footsteps, yelling and shouting. Vaguely notices as a flashlight is shined in his eyes and as Tyson is hauled to his feet. He tells them he needs a minute and squeezes his eyes tightly closed, takes deep breaths and waits for the sudden rush of dizziness to dissipate.

That's when he hears it. Her voice, like a siren song calling him to his feet. He stands, stumbles to his feet and holds on the the desk for balance, a small smile appearing on his lips.

"Kate.." he croaks out.

It's not enough.

He shuffles towards the exit, flashing police lights doing nothing good to his already dazed head. He uses his hand to shield his eyes and that is when he sees her.

She is being held by two members of the team. She's struggling and cursing and threatening them within an inch of their lives. They hold her tight though and she is powerless to get to him. Tears stream down her angry, red face.

It's all the motivation he needs to regain his strength and shrug off the post-adrenaline haze.

He chuckles as she kicks one of the men in the shin. He lets out an outraged curse and releases his grip.

That's my girl, he thinks as she repeats the action on the other agent and begins barreling towards him. She hasn't noticed him though and almost flies right by him in her attempt to get inside the workshop.

"Kate!" he yells, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him.

"C-astle..?"

He smiles and she stares at him as though she's not quite sure he's real.

Rather than waste time with words he cups her face gently with his palms. Their noses touch and warm breath mingles as he gently lays his lips on hers. He soothes the tight, thin line of her lips with his tongue, seeking entry. He strokes the ridge of her cheek bones and she opens her mouth to him. There is a sense of urgency to his ministrations, a hunger and possessiveness that threatens to rage out of control. He feels saliva gathering behind his teeth, and he swallows it as he sucks on her upper lip, draws himself away and tries to regain control. He looks her deeply in the eyes, not trusting his voice to convey all she means to him, not sure he even has the ability to speak.

"Hi," she squeaks, her chest heaving, then throwing herself at him for a massive squeeze.

"I missed you," he breathes into her hair.

She pulls back abruptly and pokes him angrily in the chest. "What the hell were you thinking?" she cries.

"Uh..."

"Your phone, why the hell did you leave it behind? I could have tracked you!"

He's slightly gobsmacked by her sudden change in demeanor but manages to reply, "Evidence."

"Shit, Rick! What the hell?" she continues to pound halfheartedly on his chest and if she was paying any attention she'd be pounding a hell of a lot harder he thinks.

He's chuckling lightly at her, thinking she looks absolutely adorable; and she will kill him, he knows, if she catches him. He does the only thing he can think to do.

He kisses her again, mumbles apologies against her lips and smiles when he feels her shoulders slump.

"Don't think you can just shut me up by kissing me...stupid man..."

"Marry me." He leans in and whispers in her ear, ignoring her diatribe.

"And evidence?" she continues still in a huff, "What the hell is that supposed to...wait..what?"

"Marry me," he grins. Confidently, as certain of this as he has ever been.

Her eyes widen, one eyebrow raising impossibly high on her brow.

"You can't just...and you don't..and..I mean.._what?_ You can't be serious, Rick."

"As a heart-attack." He solemnly replies. "Tonight, marry me tonight. On Christmas Eve. Because I love you and I know you love me. Because sitting in that workshop for three days was hell. Not because there was a lunatic threatening my life, but because you were not there with me. Because I can't bear the thought of another day without you as a part of my family."

"Rick..I.."

"Say yes, say you'll come home with us and never leave. We can do the dating, and the revealing to the press and the big, fat gala wedding later. Just say you'll marry me tonight and come home with me."

She is speechless.

Her heart is screaming 'Yes!' but her brain is telling her that he's lost the plot.

She searches his face for any sign of head trauma and finds none. His eyes are bright, clear and sincere. His gaze is falling softly on her, hopeful and expectant. She searches her heart for any real reason why she shouldn't and finds none. She knows him, loves him, would like nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. This idea of his is ridiculous, spontaneous, and completely 'Rick'.

She's been his work-wife for years, she figures why not continue with this ass-backwards relationship of theirs and dive right in?

He's her one. She's done.

Reaching up on tiptoes, her mouth to his ear she softly replies, "..'kay."

Suddenly she is lifted of her feet and the yard and is spinning before her eyes. The red and blue police lights, the bright, white television lights, they dissolve into a fuzzy blur as he swings her around like a child.

"Yes?" he happily laughs, replacing her to the ground and eyeing her with a skeptical brow.

"Yes," she confirms, with a quick peck to his cheeks, taking his hand in hers. "Come on, lets go find Martha and Alexis."

"They're here?" he asks, delighted they will be here to hear the news. Delighted to see them again at all.

"Of course they are here...um Rick?"

"Hmm?"

"How exactly does this plan of yours work at.." she checks her watch, "..7pm on Christmas Eve?"

"Don't worry about it," he replies with a squeeze to her hand and a wink, "I know a guy."

"Of course you do."

* * *

><p>And so after having his injuries checked and patched up, after giving multiple statements to various agencies, after a long and tearful reunion with his family and a relatively short and happy drive back to the city; at 11:42pm on Christmas Eve, Kate Beckett became Kate Castle.<p>

* * *

><p>"I do."<p>

"And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"Then by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife."

Judge Markaway is looking to them both expectantly now as they stare at each other with wondrous and goofy grins plastered on their faces.

"Kiss her already Rick, I'd like a few hours sleep before the grand-kids wake me up for Christmas presents."

The judge shakes his head and laughs, claps along with Martha and Alexis as the two of them engage in a long and searing lip lock.

"Ahem.." Alexis coughs when it becomes clear they won't be broken apart without help.

They grudgingly disengage and Rick happily exclaims, "Come on family, lets got home!"

After many hugs, a firm handshake and a promise to deliver a ridiculously expensive bottle of Macallan for the Judge's trouble, the four pile into the waiting car and make their way home.

* * *

><p>They lay curled up in his bed. Warm and satiated, their hands joined and their fingers linked together. She absently strokes the bandages on his wrists and confesses how scared she was, how useless she felt while he was being held. He shushes her with a kiss to her lips and reassures her that the knowledge that she was waiting for him was all that he had needed.<p>

He rolls away, towards his bedside table and she grumbles at the lack of contact.

"Hush, Sweetness," he chides with a grin. "It's Christmas Day, I'm just getting your present. Don't you want your present?"

She rolls her eyes at his continued attempts to find her a nickname. "I have all the present I need," she replies tapping him on the shoulder. "I have you."

"Well I've been waiting to give you this one for years; and much as my ego loves your stroking, I want you to have this," he says, reaching into the drawer.

He places a small, velvet box on her chest, and smiles brightly.

"Open it."

Her eyes fill and a lump forms in her throat.

_He's been waiting to give this to me for years? Oh that sweet, wonderful, patient, man._

She wasn't expecting a ring, hell she wasn't expecting to be laying in bed, married to the man. Just a week ago she would have balked at the idea. Now that she thinks about it, she realizes she had done exactly that when her best friend had confidently proclaimed, "Six months!".

"Oh God, Lanie is gonna have a field day with this," she laughs, sitting up and slowly opening the box.

"Wow..." she whispers, running her fingers over the smooth, white gold and the delicately inlaid diamonds.

It's understated and it's perfect.

"Now, of course," he starts, she feels a long Castle rant coming on but smiles lovingly at him as he slips the ring on her finger and allows him to continue.

"This is just the wedding ring. I plan on taking you shopping for an engagement ring. A big one, with lots of bling. Something to wave in front of the fan-girls when I finally get to take you out on that date and show you off to the world."

"Still, fixating on taking me on a date, Rick? I'm laying in your bed, thoroughly satisfied and more than a little worn out."

"Katherine Beckett, I plan on dating you for the rest of my life."

"Aw, that's sweet, Rick."

"It is, isn't it...Honey?"

Kate flops back down to the bed, dramatically beats her head against the pillow.

"Again?"

"….Schnookems."

"Goodnight, Castle"

"Ouch. We're back to Castle, huh?"

"Rick," she sighs, sleep quickly creeping up on her.

"Angel," he whispers in her ear and she can't help the annoying flapping of butterfly wings, again residing in her stomach.

She rests her head on his chest and wraps an arm around him. Let's her eyes drift shut and inhales his warm, rich scent.

"Night, Rick."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Castle." he breathes against her hair.

She thinks that's one name she doesn't so much mind.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow. Okay, so this is it. The penultimate chapter. **

The 'Marry Me' scene outside Tyson's workshop was pretty much the ENTIRE reason for this story after about chapter five. I saw that in my head, could not let it go and pretty much pulled everything else out of my, errr, well you know where I pulled it from, from that point onward.

Also, the phone so many people had issues with? Also because of that scene and the fact that I needed something silly for her to be slightly pissed about. :D

I hope what I imagined in my head comes through in the actual writing. You have no idea how many times, I re-wrote this chapter.

Expect an epilogue in the next few days. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see how crazy Christmas Eve is in my house with three small children all on the edge of insanity.

To all who have reviewed, added me to your favorites and alerts. Mwah! I got behind on the replies and I apologize to anyone that I missed. Also, three more favorites would seriously make my week. I kind of have a secret goal in mind, so hint-hint, nudge-nudge, wink-wink...

And finally, before the author notes become longer than the damn chapter:

** Irina. I don't know what to say other than, "Thank you." **

**You have no idea how much you have helped; with your willingness to let me rant, rave and generally annoy you with my ideas. I thank you for pushing me to publish this in the first place. **

**Even if you were expecting smut. ;) **

**Sorry about that.**

**-Ky.**


	22. Chapter 22

"Up, up, up, darlings!"

Martha comes striding into the bedroom and flings open the curtains with a dramatic flourish. Warm beams of light cascade through the windows, bounce off the furniture and blind Kate's barely opened eyes. Sunlight reflects off her new ring, reflecting sparkling beads of multicolored light onto the ceiling. She pulls the covers tightly around her body, all too aware that she is naked and that Rick's mother is still standing expectantly at the side of the bed. A small smile plays at her lips as she wiggles her fingers and notices the little diamonds of light dancing on the ceiling.

"Ugh! Mother! What time is it? And have you no sense of privacy?" Rick grumbles, fighting to keep his eyes opened against the glaring sunlight.

"Darling, it almost one in the afternoon. It's Christmas Day. Alexis and I were content to let you two lovebirds sleep in, God knows we could all use it after the last few days, but surely you haven't forgotten about the party tonight?"

He had actually. Forgotten about the party.

_Shit!_

A small gathering really, just a handful of close friends who by choice, circumstance or poor luck had managed to find themselves stuck in the city for Christmas. Still, all of these people had in some way or another changed his life for the better and he owed it to them to make an effort to give them a happy holiday.

No matter how much he'd prefer to lay wrapped around Kate's naked body all day. All week. Forever.

"Okay, Mother." he concedes, opening his eyes fully. "We're awake. Could you kindly leave now? So my wife and I can get decent."

Kate, who had been quietly laying next to him lets out a small chuckle, raises her hand to her mouth to cover it.

"What's so funny?" he asks softly.

"You just called me your wife. It sounds...weird. You also just admitted to your mother that we are _not decent_."

A soft blush creeps up her chest, takes residence on the apples of her cheeks. She averts her gaze from Martha, too embarrassed by her lack of clothing and instead aims a pointed glare at Rick. His apparent lack of concern about their nakedness not particularly surprising but still leaving her more than a little mortified.

"Weird is kind of a requirement for living in this household, Kate. You better get used to it," Martha clucks as she breezes out the door. "Ten minutes!" she yells, "I've already got the coffee on. We've got preparing to do. The show must go on!"

"God!" Kate groans, hiding her head under the sheets.

Rick squeezes Kate's hand, removes the sheet and lays a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Come on, gorgeous. You and I have a date with the shower."

"Really? And all this time I was thinking you had grand plans to wine and dine me. Turns out you only want to see me naked. Just like every other man."

Kate puts on an over-exaggerated pout. Waits for him to begin a stumbling correction. For him to assure her that he does indeed intend on wining and dining her. Instead, he ducks his head under the covers, rolls himself on top of her and after a long and drawn out process of scanning her body, running his hands up her thighs, her torso, placing gentle kisses along the way; he finally raises his eyes to hers.

"I have absolutely no problem admitting I want and more importantly _love_ seeing you naked."

Again he lets his eyes rove around and down to her chest. Allows his fingers dance around her areola, teasing her nipples into stiff peaks. A cocky grin settles on his face and she considers kissing it right off.

She is cut off before she has the chance to ponder any further.

"However annoying though she is, my mother has a point. We've got to get moving. You go first, I'll go get a head start on breakfast while you shower. Eggs on toast good for you?"

She feels him semi-aroused between her thighs and being a conscientious woman, not wanting to let anything go to waste, she has a better idea. Squeezing her thighs together, capturing him, she raises her head and purrs into his ear, "Or...you could join me in the shower."

She feels him bob up and down between her thighs, sucks gently on his neck as his adam's apple mimics the motion in his throat.

"To conserve water, of course. No funny business. As you said, we've got no time."

"Err, yeah." She watches as he schools his features, takes deep breaths and wills his body back into submission.

"That would work too. Sure," he states, jumping up out of bed, pulling her up and alongside him. "Why not?"

A playful leer settles in his eyes, his mouths hangs a little open. He openly admires her naked form and she smirks at his eagerness, pleased to know she still wields a whole lot of power over this man.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" he cries, tugging her into the bathroom.

His boy-like exuberance and enthusiasm for joining her in the shower sends little flutters of want to her belly, the curve of his tight rear-end as she ambles up behind him sends a flood of need even lower. He turns on the faucets and steam soon fills the room. He removes the bandages from his wrists and she is glad to note that the swelling has gone down significantly. They look almost normal, bar the bright red rings around both and the small amount of scabbing where his wrist meets his left hand. He quickly brushes his teeth while she watches him in the mirror. He hands her a spare toothbrush and grins as he catches her eying his more 'masculine' body parts in the reflection.

She loads the brush with toothpaste and takes a minute to file away her inventory of his body as he steps into the shower. Broad, strong shoulders. Highly muscular arms and long, lean legs. His chest is sizable and tight and though he has something of a pooch around his belly, she realizes he is a lot more athletic than she ever gave him credit for. She wonders when he has the time to work out. You don't get those arms by sitting at a desk and typing.

_Jesus, those arms!_

She realizes she is just as hopeless as he is. She also realizes she is wasting time. Quickly, she scrubs the vestiges of sleep and too-much coffee the previous day from her mouth, gargles with mouthwash and hurries to join him in the shower.

As she steps into the large enclosure she almost loses her footing. The rich, manly smell of his body-wash mingling with the hot steam in the shower, rushes into her nostrils and sends a shiver down her spine. Rivers of water cascading down his chest make her tongue ache to lick a path upwards and towards his mouth. The moan as he applies shampoo and massages it into his hair has her grabbing at the tile for extra support. It's an all out assault on her senses and she knows now, there is no way they will be out of the shower within Martha's ten minute time frame.

"Let me," she whispers, gently guiding his raw wrists to his side, letting her fingers run through his hair. He eyes open to small slits, a light smile quirks at the corners of his lips. He nods almost imperceptibly and once again lets his eyes slip shut.

She grabs a hold of his biceps, pulls him softly from the spray and works up a heavy lather on his head. Threads her hands through his hair and digs her fingernails lightly into his scalp, kneads at his neck and manipulates his shoulders. She massages away the previous week's tension and has him humming with pleasure. As she works her way down his body, applying more of the intoxicating body-wash as needed, his obvious need for her grows between them. He reaches behind her, cups her bottom in his sizable hands and drags her to him for a searing kiss.

"You are an incredible tease," he growls in her ear. His eyes are a deep blue, pupils dilated and radiating need.

"Who said I was teasing?" she grins, reaching between their bodies to stroke him. "I'm not one to waste water and I am _certainly_ not one to waste_ this_." She gives him a little squeeze for emphasis and is rewarded with a guttural moan.

With that, she is scooped up into his arms, spun around and pinned against the shower wall. Wrapping her legs around his torso for purchase, she closes her eyes and lets out a satisfied hum as he enters her.

_Hooray for saving the planet_, she thinks as the warm water rushes over them and he plunges deeper inside.

_Hooray for saving the planet_, he thinks as she moans his name and claws at his shoulders.

"Extraordinary.." he whispers as sometime later, she shatters around him.

* * *

><p>They exit his room twenty minutes or so later and are greeted with self-satisfied smiles from both Martha and Alexis. Martha is practically oozing with cognition of what was going on in the bathroom. Alexis is smiling smugly but has a definite tinge of pink on her cheeks.<p>

"Feeling...refreshed, you two?" Martha inquires with a raised brow.

"Mother!" "Gram!" Castle and Alexis reply together.

"Well, _I'm_ feeling better..." Kate answers. A pleased grin adorning her lips and a feisty glint in her eyes.

'Post-coital Kate' is playful and cute, her defenses significantly lowered. Rick doesn't think he will ever tire of this variant of her personality.

"Welcome to the family!" Martha laughs, walking over and embracing them both in a warm squeeze.

"_Really_, welcome," she whispers warmly into Kate's ear.

"Thanks, Martha." Kate replies, genuinely touched by his family's all out acceptance of their new-found relationship. Thinking about it though, she supposes they had four years to prepare for it. As far as 'walk of shames' go, this one is relatively pain free. After the week they have all had, nothing would be very likely to surprise them, she thinks.

"I'm sorry about the interruption earlier, Darling; but we _were_ running short on time and are even shorter now," she directs at Rick.

"Right." he says, glad for the relative lack of awkwardness in the current situation. Somehow not surprised that moving forward with Kate wouldn't be very difficult after years, agonizingly slowly, getting past the 'getting to know you' phase. His two previous marriages had been started and over with in less time. His last marriage, he thought, would last a lifetime.

"What do we need to do?" he inquires, brushing a kiss to Alexis's forehead and squeezing her shoulder as he rounds the counter and heads for the coffee.

The girl starts to recite a long list of items that need cleaning, catering that needs picking up, decorations that need preparing.

Rick gets the task of picking up the food, nobody really wanting to go out in the freezing weather and the women busy themselves with the loft.

They clean and make the place festive in little time. Martha and Kate are relaxing on the couch with a glass of wine when Rick returns. Alexis softly plays Christmas carols on the baby grand and smiles in his direction as he enters.

_I'm home_, Rick thinks, carefully placing the trays of food on the table and walking over to greet Kate with a soft kiss on the top of her head. He repeats the action again, with both his mother and daughter, before wiggling his rear-end and shoving both Kate and Martha aside so he can sit between them.

_I'm home_, Kate thinks as he oafishly plants himself beside her, raises her left hand and lays a sloppy kiss to her newly-adorned ring finger. She smacks him away with an insult, a smile and an gentle tug on his ear, happy that while everything has changed, really, nothing has changed at all. He's still that same nine year old on a sugar rush, she's still the grown up with the playful jibes and mock indignation at the ready.

Before long, there is a knock at the door and Kate is surprised to realize it's already nearing six.

Martha jumps from the couch and Alexis rises from the piano. The two of them scurry off to the kitchen to finish preparations with the food. Rick is about to answer the door when he stops dead in his tracks and realizes what he is wearing. The same faded jeans and a 'cookie monster' shirt, approximately two sizes too small for him. It had worked when he was out picking up food, his sweater and jacket had hidden the ridiculous garb. He had worn it because it was soft and comfortable under the prickly wool sweater, now he's horrified that it might be someone he has an image to uphold behind the door.

Kate notices his indecision, stalled halfway to the door with a slight look of panic on his face.

"Could you..?" he gestures to the door as another knock sounds.

"Sure," Kate replies with a smirk, "Wouldn't want you losing any of that refined and debonair, Richard Castle cred."

He smiles gratefully and run off towards the bedroom.

Kate takes a deep breath, her hand stilling on the knob momentarily.

Her nerves are a little agitated and she's somewhat apprehensive about revealing to everyone their new relationship status. Married. Just thinking it sends a little thrill of pleasure but an even greater feeling of 'how the hell did this happen?' straight to her gut. While she'd never regret the split-second decision the previous night, she was hoping they'd have a little time to keep it to themselves before declaring it to the world and enduring the harassment their friends would be sure to provide. She hopes whoever is standing, waiting behind the door will be gentle. Hopes it's someone she doesn't know, so Rick can do the honors when he returns from changing.

Apparently she's pissed off some higher power because none other than the world's most intuitive M.D. is staring back at her when she pulls on the knob and the door is finally ajar.

"Girl!" Lanie squeals, hugging Kate tight and jumping up and down just a little bit. "Congratulations!"

_How the hell...?_

"Lanie, Hi." Kate smiles shyly. "How the hell did you know? You've been here _two _seconds!"

"You brushed away your hair as your opened the door. No way I'd miss that sparkle on your finger. You're not the only one trained to notice things, you know?"

Kate shakes her head and laughs along with her friend. "Fine, we did it. Last night, in the office of a sleepy judge, with nothing more than Martha and Alexis as witnesses. It just seemed that after everything that had happened last week, it seemed like the right thing to do. Enough wasting time. Know what I mean?"

Lanie snorts. "Yeah, you two would _never _waste time.."

"Shut-up, Lanie."

"Six days, Miss Beckett.. err.. Mrs Castle. Wow, _that_ will take some time getting used to.." Lanie shakes her head and finally proceeds.

"Anyhow..six days. _Six! _You realize I said six months right? This wasn't some sort of New Year's resolution to agree with me and take my sage advice was it?"

"Please. Says the woman who is still denying herself happiness with Javi."

That comment earns her a raised brow. "Touche, _Mrs Castle._"

Kate smiles and goes on, "I guess I just finally saw the light. Or maybe realized the _lack_ of light there would be without him in my life. All I could think about while he was stuck in that garage was 'what-ifs' and 'if-onlys'. I didn't want to spend any more time wondering."

Lanie makes a series of "Awww"s and clucking noises as they make their way through the loft and towards the kitchen. Kate chuckles at the still slightly dazed look on the medical examiners face.

Imagines she's probably still sporting one of her own.

"Come and have a drink of wine already. Rick is just getting changed and I know Martha and Alexis will be happy to see you."

Rick emerges and enters the kitchen at the same time they do and is greeted with a tight hug and a quiet, "It's about time" from Lanie.

Kate suddenly isn't worried at all about revealing their marriage to the world.

It's good, it's right.

It's about time.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well. There you have it. I realized as I wrote this that I have probably a good three or more chapters I could write for this story but also that this is a perfectly fine ending as well. I'm going to mark it as complete but maybe add more if it comes to me or if it is greatly requested. I slammed this out with absolutely no beta-ing and a sad lack of coffee. If there are any glaring mistakes or murdering of the English language, please feel free to point it out.**

**I apologize for the ridiculously long delay in posting this. I know I promised a few days, it's been a few weeks. Bad Ky.**

**If you're in the mood for something different, come check out my newest fic, "Percolate". You can find it on my profile. ;)**

**And so, there you have it. My smut, turned case-file, turned Christmas, turned fluff fic. As complete as it's going to get. For now.**

**Thanks for reading and staying with it throughout it's many twists and turns. You guys rock my socks!**


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